


The Lost Souls of Paris

by EnjolrasAmy, MissChrisDaae



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Child Abuse, Enjolras & Éponine Thénardier Friendship, F/M, Family, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Enjolras/Grantaire, One-Sided Enjolras/Grantaire, One-Sided Marius Pontmercy/Éponine Thénardier, Past Abuse, a lot of canonical character deaths, verse blending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2017-12-31 16:39:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 36,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnjolrasAmy/pseuds/EnjolrasAmy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissChrisDaae/pseuds/MissChrisDaae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Éponine and Enjolras find themselves trapped under a bridge in a rainstorm: a bridge where an infant Erik has been left to die. Both of them find themselves drawn to the hideous child, and a pact is formed to take care of the boy. But as the revolution draws closer, they find the thin threads of the family they've only just begun to form breaking apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Little Fall of Rain

  
_September 3, 1831_   


Éponine Thénardier shivered and cursed. It was freezing for September, especially with this downpour of rain. A bolt of lightning shot across the sky, and she screamed, ducking under a bridge for shelter. She tried to whistle the little tune she remembered Cosette singing years ago. After a minute, she gave up the attempt, and leaned back against one of the baskets that had been left there. And then the basket started wailing. Éponine turned around and pulled up the basket's cover. A tightly swaddled baby lay inside, its tiny face covered by a little cloth mask. "Oh, you poor thing," she whispered, reaching for the mask. The baby whimpered, as if to tell her not to.

" _Baise_!" A familiar man's voice blurted. Éponine stuck her head out from under the bridge to see Enjolras, that leader boy from the Cafe Musain, trying to swat the falling drops away from his blond hair.

"Hey! Enjolras! In here!" she yelled. The revolutionary turned to her in confusion. "If you want out of the rain, come on!" After a moment, he clambered in to face her, pulling off his coat as he did so.

"I've seen you before." It wasn't a question.

"Um, yes... I'm Éponine. Éponine Thénardier. I'm... friends... with Marius Pontmercy."

"Oh, yes. The little street girl." She grimaced. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, Mam'selle."

"It's fine."

"Where'd the baby come from?" he asked, his tone making it clear that he was trying to be polite, but the implication still made her blush.

"It's not... I mean, I... well... I, um, I found it."

"Oh, I see." His gold eyebrows knit together for a moment. "Take the baby out of the basket."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

"Um, alright?" She gently lifted up the bundle into her arms. Enjolras took the basket and, after a moment, pulled out a folded letter. The baby squirmed as if it knew what was in the letter.

"It's a he. According to this, his name is Erik, and we're better off throwing him in a river."

"Throwing him in a river? What for?" Éponine yelped in alarm. "He's just a baby!"

"Take off his mask," Enjolras said grimly. "The letter says that if you don't understand why he's better off dead, you obviously haven't seen his face."

"I don't think it's a good idea."

"Éponine, I am not saying we will kill him. I simply want to understand the motives of whoever abandoned him. Do it, please."

"Um… alright." Éponine gingerly pulled away the white kid covering. It was good material, which meant the baby's family was rich. So why abandon him... "OH!"

She had never seen anything like the baby's face. A pair of swollen, twisted red lips against bone-white skin, the skin by his nose crumpled and pinched, a mottled scar running along his right cheek. Parts of his skull looked almost burned away, and she could see…

"Is that his brain?" Enjolras asked, leaning closer in what looked to be fascination.

"I think it is…" Éponine answered in shock. "The poor thing…. Cast out just because he's different looking…"

"You're taking a rather interesting view on all this."

"I just… I see pieces of myself in him…"

"How so?"

"Never mind."

"No, tell me. So long as we're waiting out this storm, we might as well talk."

"You talk. I don't want to."

"Very well." And talk he did. He told her about Marianne, his baby sister, and the reason he was fighting for the Republic so fiercely. He talked about the dreams he saw, the visions of the blond woman dressed in the tricolor, and how he was sure it was the spirit of France, urging him on. "She is unlike anything I've ever seen."

"And is that why you're still a virgin?" Éponine joked. He swatted at her head in exasperation. "What? It's what Grantaire says!"

"Grantaire also calls me Orestes from time to time, but I highly doubt I will be murdering my mother and her lover as revenge for my father anytime soon. Nor will I be marrying him off to my sister. In short, do not believe everything Grantaire says to you. Half the time, he doesn't know his own hand from his bottle."

"Is that any surprise? They're always close to each other," she pointed out, and he laughed. It was a warm, sunny sound that made it impossible not to smile. "You should laugh more often."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You look nice when you laugh. People might not be so scared of you if you acted like you do right now."

"Being pleasant can wait until after I have secured that which is far more important."

"What is that?"

"Freedom, Éponine. All the pleasantries in the world means nothing if basic human rights are denied to us."

"I'm never going to be free," she said sulkily. "I'm too poor, my father'll most likely sell me off. You can't stop something like that from happening, Enjolras."

"I'm not entirely blind to the plight of the poor, Éponine," he said coolly. The two of them stayed silent for a minute before little Erik started crying. "What do we do?" Éponine ripped off a piece of her shift and stuck it out into the rain until it was soaked.

"Put it in his mouth," she ordered, shoving it into his hands.

"What?"

"Just do it."

"I feel like an idiot," grumbled he, giving up on resisting and obeying her. As Erik sucked at the rag, Éponine giggled. "I knew it! I look like a fool!"

"No! No, you two look very sweet together…" she trailed off, blushing a little. "Almost like a family." Enjolras noticed the longing in her voice.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"You're lying to me."

She sighed and pulled off her cap, trying to smooth out her tangled, wet brown mess. "I haven't felt like I've had a proper family since I was a little girl. I'm jealous, really. I just… can't help but care for him." The wheels in Enjolras's head started turning. If she was to break free of her parents the way he believed she wanted to, she'd need money. And even if he took little Erik in as his ward, there would be no one to look after him, unless… "Enjolras, why are you looking at me like that?"

"I am looking at you in this way, because I have an idea."

"What kind of idea?"

"Éponine…. How would you like being a governess?"

"Haven't governess got to have educations?"

"Only for older children. When Erik gets older…. Hopefully, I will be able to help him, then."

"I still don't understand what you're saying."

"What I am saying, is that while I am busy at the Café Musain with Les Amis, you would be watching over Erik. And I would be willing to both pay you and give you lessons in exchange for this." He watched her face carefully for her reaction. First, her eyes lit up eagerly and she started to smile. Then, her face fell and she bit her lip.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"My father," she answered, picking at her filthy nails. "He wouldn't want me spending all my time not helping him. And I don't want to risk a beating."

"And you can't escape?" That was stupid of him. Of course she couldn't. There were only three ways any woman could ever break free of their father. One was to join a convent, something he had a feeling Éponine would not enjoy in the least. Second was to resort to a life as a courtesan, if she hadn't already, another course she probably didn't fancy. The third was to marry someone and be subject to them instead. And somehow, he didn't think she'd do well in that. "Never mind." Éponine glared at him and muttered something under her breath, then changed the subject.

"The rain stopped."

"Will you at least consider my offer?" he asked, pressing ten francs into her palm. Her eyes grew wide in amazement.

"All this?"

"Consider it an incentive if you decide to take me up on it. It's a gift, otherwise."

"I don't want your charity."

"It's not charity."

"Then what is it?"

He smiled a little wryly. "I suppose you could call it bribery. I'll take him home for tonight. And I'll be waiting for your answer after tomorrow's meeting. You know when that is, I presume?" Her bright red cheeks gave her away beneath the dirt. "I'll take that as a yes. Until then, Éponine." Without another word, he collected Erik in his arms and headed back in the direction of his flat.


	2. Nothing Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the plan gets placed into action, and two people of very different pasts learn a little more about each other.

_September 4, 1831_

* * *

"Hey, Enjolras!" He looked up at Joly, who was peering through the window. "That Éponine girl is outside, but she's not with Marius. Should I tell her to go?"

"No!" Enjolras blurted, nearly shooting up out of his chair. His leg almost knocked into the satchel that was holding Erik, and he stiffened, trying not to wake him. If Erik started crying, that would mean trouble… "I asked her to come here."

"Enjolras asked  _Éponine_  to come here?" Grantaire snorted. "Of all the girls he could go for, he picks the scrappy, ugly little street rat? Ha! Oh, this is rich."

"Grantaire, this may be the only time I ever say this. Go drink yourself into a stupor and go to sleep.  _NOW_." Picking up the bag, he headed down the stairs, almost knocking into Prouvaire on his way down. "Sorry."

"It's alright… wait, where are you going?"

"Outside. It'll only be a moment." Enjolras explained, pushing his way out the doors. "Éponine. I was hoping you'd show up."

"Well… here I am…" she said, shifting back and forth on her heels, trying to clean her dirty hands on her equally dirty skirt. "Is that him in the bag?"

"Yes, it is. Thank you for your help."

"Where do I take him?" she asked, accepting the bag and sliding it gently over her shoulder. Erik burbled slightly, his eyes blinking open and a tiny smile beaming up at them. "Oh, that's precious!" Enjolras let a hint of a smile play on his own lips.

"I suppose it is. I live at Number 147, Rue Liberté. Do you know how to read?"

"I know my numbers. And I know this city like the back of my hand. I can find it."

"Good. When you get in there, be wary of Madame Laroche, my neighbor. She'd love to spread any rumours about me that she can."

"Madame Laroche," Éponine repeated.

"I keep a spare key in an knothole by my door. It's by the upper right corner. Have you got all that?" She nodded. "Help yourself to anything in the flat you may need. I'll be home by midnight at the latest."

"Alright… I'm going now. Good luck with your meeting."

"Thank you." He turned back and started his way back into the Musain. When he got there, true to his orders, Grantaire lay passed out on a table, bottle in hand. "Ferre, help me." Combeferre got up from looking at his maps and strode over to the table.

"Are we going to the left or the right?"

"Right. If we knock his head on those boxes, he might wake up. Come on." After a few good shoves, the two of them got Grantaire's limp body off the table, and the drunkard landed on the floor with a thud. "Now then, to business."

* * *

"Knothole… knothole…." Éponine muttered, standing up on her tiptoes. After a moment's groping around, her fingers poked into the wall and drew out a dull brass key. "Ha!" she let out a little exclamation of triumph and put the key into the door, turning it open.

She'd been expecting something a little more posh than what she saw. Sheets of paper with mad scribbles covered the walls, and not even the ceiling had escaped being scrawled upon. His desk and chair both looked like they could collapse at any moment, the desk weighed down by several thick, leather-bound books, and the chair was worn and threadbare. The rug had clearly once been of fine quality, but now it had holes, and was faded. As she bent down to take a closer look, the satchel knocked against the floor, and Erik started wailing. "Oh, merde! Erik, I'm sorry!" Éponine pulled him out and placed him on the couch, where he immediately started gumming the arm of it. She chuckled as she stepped into the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, the amount of food was little. A mostly complete loaf of bread, a hunk of cheese, and some dried meat. His bedroom was in a similar state to the front room, but clothes were scattered amongst the papers and books.

"It's his flat, alright," she said, a smile beginning to creep onto her face. Everything about it suggested that his real priority was the revolution. She picked up a knife and cut off a wedge of the cheese, popping it in her mouth. The flavor was rich and tangy, the best food she'd had in what felt like forever. Stepping back into the front room, she saw that Erik had torn off a chunk of the chair's upholstery and was sucking on it. "Take that out of your mouth!" she scolded, yanking it out. Erik looked at her, his big mismatched eyes shining, and his bloated lower lip trembling. "Oh, God… oh, please, don't—"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Erik started bawling, waving his little fists and kicking his feet.

"Oh, fine!" she huffed, handing back the piece of fabric. "But shut up!" Erik gave her what looked like a smile before he went back to chewing on his new toy. "I should be getting more than ten francs for this…."

"Neen!" She froze. There was no way… He couldn't be… "Neen!" the little voice repeated. But, God, what a voice! It didn't sound like a baby… more like one of those fat baby carvings on churches….

"Erik…" She leaned towards him hesitantly. "Are you trying to say my name?"

"NEEEEEEEN!" he shrieked, holding out the scrap to her.

"What do you want me to do with it?"

"Brrrrrb!" He made the odd little smile again.

"Um… very nice…" she said, awkwardly taking it in her hands. Erik's expression widened and he clapped his little hands together. "But what do I do with it?" He blew his lips together in an odd little tune. No, not odd. Unfamiliar. But pretty. Very pretty. "Interesting…" she murmured. "You like music, hmmm?"

"Neen, neen, neen," Erik babbled.

"Yes, yes, I'm here, what is it? How did you even figure out how to say my name? Wait, what am I even doing, there's no way you can reply to me, is this even happening?"

"Neeeeeen!" He grabbed a chunk of her hair and pulled.

"OW! Ow, let go!" She pulled away, but he held on tightly. "Erik, no! No grabbing! No!"

"Neen?"

"For the love of all things holy, please, get off me!" she yelped, looking around wildly for something, anything that could get the boy's skeletal fingers off her hair. Seeing none, she rapped her fingers on his. He released his grip, wailing. "I'm sorry!"

"Still at it?"

"Eeep! Enjolras!" She snapped to attention, scooping up Erik. "Meeting done early?"

"Grantaire's bottle of absinthe knocked over onto a candle. We got the fire out before there was any major damage, but it smelled repulsive, so we adjourned."

"Oh, ugh… I'm sorry!"

"Ah, well, not a major setback," he replied, picking up a pencil, and making another scribble in one of the few empty spaces left. "If I…" his speech dropped to a mutter as he continued writing.

"Your handwriting's very messy."

"Says the girl who can't write."

"I can try!"

"You're still in no position to be criticizing me."

"You said you were going to teach me."

"And I will, as soon as you've fed Erik and put him down in his trunk. That should give me time to finish this."

"Alright, then…"

* * *

"Are you finished yet?" Enjolras called, straightening the papers on his desk. A volume of Robespierre tumbled onto the floor.

"Shhhhh! I'm trying to get him to sleep, and you're making it difficult!" Éponine shot back in a whisper.

"Sorry…" he grumbled, turning back to his work, setting up a small space for them to have lessons in.

"Alright, now I'm done," she announced in the same whisper.

"Perhaps another room would be a better place for lessons," he suggested, gathering up the papers and pens. "The kitchen, maybe…."

"Alright…" she agreed, rubbing her bare arms self-consciously.

"Are you cold?"

"No colder than usual."

"Let me…" he picked up a spare blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Is that any better?"

"A little… Enjolras?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you doing all this for me?" The question caught him off guard, mostly because he hadn't considered it.

"It was the right thing to do, I suppose. You needed help, I could offer it, so I did. Anyone with a shred of morality would do the same." She gave a wry chuckle at that. "What?"

"You think your friends have morality?"

"Well… yes. Except Grantaire…."

"None of them have ever done more than offered me a few coins that wouldn't buy a day's worth of food."

"Ép—"

"Don't tell me they have more important things to do. If you people really wanted what was right for everyone, you'd pay attention to us. You wouldn't just know my name, you'd know the names of everyone who's ever begged you for a crust of bread. What good is a revolution if we're starving to death?"

"You're starving because—"

"There will always be starving people, no matter how the leaders change! I should know, I've seen it firsthand!"

"Shhhhhh! You'll wake Erik!" That shut her up almost immediately. "If I could help the way you're suggesting, I would. But I can't. And do you know why? Because however wealthy my family may be, it's not enough to feed every starving person I want to. But with a new government, it could be possible to redistribute funds that are being wasted, and use them to feed the people. We could build homes, real homes. I have so many ideas going on in my head, but I can't utilize them, because we're in an oppressive, limiting, useless governmental system where the bourgeois possess the vast majority of the money, and the much larger lower classes possess almost none." She blinked at him. "Was that too many large words?"

"No."

"Then why are you doing that?"

"You didn't touch me," she replied softly.

"What?"

"My father would've grabbed me by now, and be shaking me like mad. And 'Parnasse would have pulled me close by my face. You're different, Enjolras. Different from just about every other man I know." Her eyes remained locked on his, focused and intent.

"Please don't look at me like that. It's really quite unnerving."

"Sorry."

"Well, now that we've gotten that out of the way… Lessons." He pulled out a chair for her. "Sit down, and we can start."

If one had looked into the kitchen of Number 147, Rue Liberté on that September evening, one might have been surprised at the sight. A scrappy, dirty-faced girl, in a tattered, stained shift and skirt, her tangled hair falling about her shoulders, sitting next to a shaggy haired blond young man, his shirt collar loosened and his waistcoat unbuttoned, while he patiently guided her through the text of myths that sat on the table in front of them. Every so often, one of them would get up. It might have been to cut off another piece of the bread that sat on the far end of the table, to pour another cup of tea, or to check on the sleeping infant who lay nestled in a cocoon of blankets, his puckered, deformed face wearing an oddly peaceful expression. If one had looked into Number 147, Rue Liberté, one would have seen the beginning of something unlike anything these three lost souls had ever experienced before.


	3. Complications and a Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras reveals the dramas of his family, and proves himself a rather generous patron.

_As the days passed, the three fell into a pattern. Éponine would meet Enjolras at the back of the Musain at nine, and he'd hand her the key to his flat. From there, she'd go and tend to Erik until five, when he'd come home and start the lessons. By eight, she'd return to her parents, ten francs concealed in her boot, and no one was the wiser. On the days where there were no meetings, both revolutionary and gamin would attempt to teach Erik new words. Everything seemed to be just fine until November came around._

* * *

_November 17, 1831_

"You're late," Éponine said, barely looking up from her book as the door shut behind Enjolras. "What happened?"

"I need a brandy," Enjolras replied, brushing past her. "Erik is…"

"Already asleep," answered she. "What happened? You never drink." Enjolras ignored her and started taking gulps from the bottle itself. "Stop that!" She ordered, yanking it out of his reach and unceremoniously dumping it out the window. "Explain. Sober. Now."

"General Lamarque has taken ill," he answered, sinking onto the mutilated corner of the couch that was Erik's domain. His fingers started absentmindedly tracing one of the many tears the little tyke had made. "I fear that he may worsen, and the less generous members of the assembly will take advantage of his absence."

"Oh, Enjolras, I'm sorry…" she sat down beside him and started kneading his shoulders gently.

"Bastien," he let out a small exhale.

"I'm sorry?"

"You can call me Bastien if you prefer."

"Your name is Bastien?"

"Technically, it's Sebastien Richard Victor-Marie Enjolras the Fifth," he admitted, making a face. Éponine's jaw dropped. "I know, I know, it's disgustingly elegant and high-class, and I hate it. You can see why I prefer simply going by Bastien, or just my surname."

"At least your name wasn't just picked out of a romance novel."

"Your name has character. Mine has revolting bourgeois connotations," he retorted, pulling a folded square of paper from inside his waistcoat. "We've got a worse problem, I'm afraid." Éponine took it from him, and unfolded it. Phrases like 'inappropriate lifestyle' and 'disgrace to the family' stared up at her.

"I take it your parents aren't too happy with you?"

"Grandparent. But yes. To the point where I've been threatened with disownment. Without my allowance, it'll be hard to keep up our usual patterns."

"But…" Éponine looked around in confusion. "Surely it can't be that expensive to live here."

"It's not, but there are other expenses. You know how much paper I can go through in a week."

"And now Erik's started drawing," she agreed ruefully. "So, what do we do?"

"Look down. Final paragraph." She followed his finger as he pointed it out. 'To be frank, Sebastien, this ridiculous, wild dream has to end. I plan on visiting before the year's end. if I do not find everything to my satisfaction, you will be returning with me to Rennes, and, I fervently hope, settle down and be a credit to our family name.'

"Oh, ugh! What does that even mean?"

"It means that he expects me to be seriously courting, or already married, and focused on entering a career in politics."

"I thought you studied politics. Wouldn't you like that?"

"Not the kind of politics he practices. My grandfather, I am sorry to say, is more like our current politicians, General Lamarque excluded. If I tried to make a genuine effort, he wouldn't take me seriously."

"Sasha," Erik muttered in his sleep.

"We need to get him a pet."

"Éponine, focus! If my grandfather comes here, everything could easily be jeopardized. My inheritance is the only future Erik has…"

"Oh, no… What do we do?" She moved away from him as his jaw clenched and his hands tightened. She hated when he got like this… "Enjolras? Bastien? Hello?"

"No," he growled.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm not going into this again!"

"Why is it your grandfather's the one who's coming, and not your father?" He shot her a look of pure disgust. "Sorry I asked…"

"My father is dead, more's the damn pity. He was, in many ways, the greatest man I ever knew, and I try to emulate him as much as I can."

"How did he die?"

"Influenza. I was ten, and Marianne was three. It took our mother, too. So, naturally, dear old Grandpére Sebastien takes us in, and tries to teach us the error of our parents' ways."

"He failed?"

"Miserably. The good news is, he can only disinherit me from his legacy, I've got money from my parents."

"And the bad news?"

"It only comes when I turn thirty, or I've married, whichever comes first."

"How old are you now?"

"Twenty-five."

"And we can't last five years?"

"Not with the damage I've done…" he said ruefully, gesturing to his scribbles. "I suppose I could buy the place… In fact, I'm surprised I haven't…. I suppose it's because I thought it was impractical. But it makes sense now. Erik needs a steady home."

"And your grandfather?"

"I'll kill him myself, if I have to."

"Bastien!"

"I was joking!"

"It wasn't funny," she said coolly.

"Sasha," Erik said again.

"And I repeat, we need to get him a pet."

"Éponine, this place is not big enough for a pet."

"Maybe a cat… a cat could work, right? Or a fish? I could get one out of the Seine."

"I don't think that's entirely safe… you could drown!"

"I know how to swim!"

"The river's filthy."

"Oh, and I'm not?"

"About that…." He pushed himself up and offered her his hand. "I got you something. A thank you for these past few months."

"What is it?" she asked, allowing him to lead her into the bedroom. "Oh!" Two dresses lay on his unmade bed, one a cheery sky blue, and the other a deep bloody scarlet. "Oh, En… Bastien… I haven't had dresses this nice since I was a little girl…" She picked up the blue dress. "I had a hat this color…. The night that…" she trailed off, reveling in the soft, clean fabric.

"What night?"

"Never mind…. Can I… Can I try one of them on?"

"I'll do you one better. The bathroom's all yours for the next few hours. I'll watch Erik."

"You mean it? All for me?" Before she could stop herself, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "Thank you! Thank you so much! I… Oh…." she let out a little squeak before running into the bathroom. Enjolras turned his attention back to the chest where Erik was just raising his head, blinking his mismatched eyes.

"Ras!" he declared in his imperious way. "Play! Play!"

"Alright, what it is you want me to play this time?"

"Draw an' guess!" Erik said eagerly, snatching up his pencil.

"Very well then, you first." Enjolras lifted the lanky little boy onto his shoulders to reach a blank space. Erik set his bloated lips determinedly and started scribbling. After a moment, it looked like a woman. "Is it Patria?" Erik shook his head.

"Give up?"

"Never." After a few more moments, he guessed again. "Madame Laroche?"

"Eurgh!"

"I was joking! It's Éponine, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh! Neen's pretty!"

"Ah, listen to you. Give you another month, and you'll be producing sentences by Christmas."

"Really?"

"Of course. Now, hand over that pencil."

"Barricade."

"I haven't even drawn yet!"

"Always barricade. Always Patria."

"Damn, you're good…."

"Pwedict," Erik lisped proudly. "Rik smart boy, yes, Ras?"

"Very smart, Erik. I only wish you were older. You'd be a godsend to us. But, since you've beat me at draw and guess, we need a different game. Maybe you're too young, but I'm going to teach you chess. Maybe you and Éponine could be a team."

"What's chess?"

"Strategy," Enjolras replied, setting Erik down on his favorite spot. "One moment…My books on Greece…. Marianne's old sketchbook… I'm keeping that safe for her… Ah. Here it is. The chessboard. Come help me set—"

"Um…" Éponine's voice came from the door to the washroom. "I'm done…"

"Neen really pretty!" Erik yelled, toddling off the couch and over to Éponine.

"Why, thank you, Erik. Bastien, what d'you think?" Her cheeks were rosy from scrubbing, and her damp hair had been pulled into a messy knot at the back of her neck, leaving the red dress, which clung to her body in a way that made her look significantly healthier, fully visible.

"You… er…. You clean up very well…." Enjolras said, chewing his lip, and praying she wouldn't think him an ass. His strength was strategy, not flattery… "Er… what I mean is…"

"I understand," Éponine said somewhat coolly. "Thank you. Now, what is that?" she pointed to the table.

"Oh…. Yes…. Chess… I thought I might teach both you and Erik."

"Go ahead then," she said, sitting across from him and taking Erik on her lap.

"So the object is to capture the King, that's this piece here…."

_And, if only for that evening, the three of them continued in the peaceful, comfortable routine they had started thanks to one rainy day._


	4. A Place to Call Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which both Éponine and Enjolras overstep their boundaries, and we are introduced to Montparnasse and Marius.

**_November 18, 1831_ **

Éponine woke to the rank smell of liquor in front of her face. "What izzit?" she slurred, rubbing her eyes. Montparnasse's cruelly handsome face came into focus as he gripped her chin tightly.

"You came home late last night," he said stiffly. "And you know who your father took it out on? Us!"

"Not my fault he don't keep track of his own daughter," she retorted, hastily rubbing dirt from the floor onto her face.

"That's what I said," Montparnasse chuckled slightly, his features softening a little. "But really, 'Ponine, where were you? I.. We were worried."

"I wasn't in prison, if that's what you're worried about," she answered, pulling a handful of coins from her worn-out shoes. "And I got this."

" _Mon Dieu!_ Five francs? How did you get those?"

"Nicked it off a student," she lied smoothly, rolling it between her fingers. "But it's all mine!"

"I don't think your father'd like that," he warned, leaning in. Sensing his intention, she pulled back, and pushed herself up on her feet.

"Well, that's his problem. I've got to go now."

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

"He's  _definitely_ not going to like that."

"See if I care." Without another word, she slipped out the doorway. It was another rainy morning, and more than a little chilly. She rubbed her arms, trying to get warmer.

"Ponine!" She felt her heart skip a beat. She hadn't heard that voice for months, and it belonged to Marius Pontmercy.

"M-Monsieur Marius!" she stammered, turning to face him. Oh, why couldn't he have seen her yesterday, when she'd been all clean and well dressed? "H-how are you?"

"Oh, the same as usual," Marius answered, not really paying attention. "Haven't seen you around though, why is that?"

"I've had work," she answered coolly. "I'm learning to be a governess." Marius stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. "What?"

"You? But… but… you can barely read! How are you supposed to be a governess?"

"It's a very little baby," she said defensively. "Not as if I'm managing three tykes at once!"

"Well, I suppose not, but…."

"I understand. I'll go…"

"Ponine, I didn't—" But he didn't get to finish, because she'd taken off running, straight for the Seine. The icy November water lapped against the cuts on her feet and legs, the cold cutting straight through to her bones. Despite the pain of it, she kept going, and was about to submerge herself entirely when an arm clamped around her and jerked her back.

"Are you  _mad?_ " Enjolras pulled her onto the bank, removed his coat, wrapping it around her. "Didn't I tell you yesterday that it was a stupid idea to swim in the Seine? What the hell were you thinking?"

"Oh, piss off!" she snapped furiously. "Who says I didn't want to die? It's pointless, Bastien, all pointless! You're going to get sent away to Rennes, Erik's going to die the minute my parents see him, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life as a stupid, ugly, hopeless—" He slapped her smartly across the face. "What..."

"Is that the only way to get through to you, girl? To make me into something I'm not?" he snarled in fury. "You think I wanted to do that just now?" She shook her head meekly. "I had more faith in you, Éponine. Did you honestly think I was going to let an ass like my grandfather get in our way? I didn't get the revolution to where it is now by giving up at the first impending threat. We can do this, but you have to trust me. Will you?"

"But—"

"For Erik, if for nothing else," he interrupted. "Like it or not, Éponine, we've become part of a family. Erik needs us. You dragged me into this, you're not walking out on me…. On us."

"Al… Alright…" She accepted his hands to help her stand. "I'm sor—achoo!" The sneeze wreaked her thin body, making her shake.

"That's it, I'm taking you home," Enjolras declared, scooping her up with one arm. Éponine scanned the area for anyone she might know, but saw no one. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing…."

"Éponine, I believe it's gotten to the point where people are fairly aware that we have some form of relationship. You don't need to be so conscious about it.

"Well, excuse me if I don't want every member of my father's gang pressuring me about bedding you!"  _Or Montparnasse finding out at all_ , she added silently.

"Oh, very well. I'll stop asking you. But when we get home, I am drawing you another bath, and then you are sleeping for the rest of the day."

"The rest of the day?" she repeated. "In… In your bed?"

"You didn't think I was going to have you sleep on the floor, did you?" he asked, setting her down so as to open the door. "I am not that kind of a man, you should know that by now."

"Really is a wonder he's still a virgin," she murmured to herself.

"I heard that, little mademoiselle," Enjolras said in spooky similarity to her father, so much that she had to shake her head in attempt to clear it. "What did I do now?"

"Nothing," she muttered weakly. "I think I'm hearing things… I'm tired… I'm so tired."

"Easy now…" For the second time that day, he held her in his arms. Éponine remained silent as she grew accustomed to the beating of his heart through the thin fabric of his shirt. It was strong, steady, like he was.

"I can stand!" she protested, trying to wriggle out of his grip.

"Not right at this moment, you can't. Éponine, will you please just do as you're told, for once?"

"Fine," she grumbled, slipping through the door the minute it had opened.

"POOOOOONEEEEEEEEN!" Erik shrieked, toddling towards her from the couch as fast as his little legs could carry him.

"No, Erik, not right now. Éponine's going to take a bath, and we're going to take a look at the Greeks."

"Pointies?"

"Yes, pointy roofs. And columns. Temples of all kinds, tributes to a great people."

"I wanna be Greek."

"You might change your tune when we start learning about Rome. Rome… never a greater triumph, nor a greater failure."

"STOP WAXING POETIC ABOUT ROME," Éponine yelled from the bathroom, causing Erik to giggle.

"IT'S CULTURE," Enjolras shot back indignantly as Erik started whistling. "Erik, stop that."

"You don't like it?" Erik's lips started to form the trembling that meant tears were not far behind.

"It's not that I don't like it, it's that right now is not the time for it."

"I wanna make music…" Erik sulked.

"Maybe later."

"NOW!"

"Fine," Enjolras sighed, handing him a little tin flute from the desk. He'd bought it on one of his regular rounds distributing flyers about the Revolution. "You can play until Éponine's done."

Grinning, Erik raised the whistle to his lips and started playing. The tune was simple enough, but still impressive for a boy who was two years old at most. "That song…" Éponine came out, a towel wrapped around her dark hair to keep it off her blue dress. "I know it from somewhere."

"Sing, Ponine!" Erik said eagerly. "Sing it!"

"Are you, are you coming to the tree where they strung up a man they say murdered three? Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be if we met up at midnight in the hanging tree…" Éponine's voice was quiet and slightly hoarse, but still fairly pleasant to hear. Enjolras, however found himself focusing on the lyrics more.

"Are you, are you coming to the tree where the dead man called out for his love to flee? Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be if we met up at midnight in the hanging tree… Are you, are you coming to the tree where I told you to run so we'd both be free? Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be if we met up at midnight in the hanging tree… Are you, are you coming to the tree? Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me. Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be if we met up at midnight in the hanging tree…"

"How do you both know it?" he asked. "It's very…. Well, very dark. Do you understand its meaning?"

"I just thought it was a very sad song," Éponine said innocently.

"It's a message. That it is better to die and be free in the next realm than to live miserable and trapped. It could work very well as a code… I wonder… I'll have to bring it up at the next meeting. But now, I think I have a plan regarding us."

"You do?" she asked, sitting down beside him on the couch.

"Yes, and thankfully, it's one that won't involve any goddamn matrimony." Maybe he was crazy, but he thought he saw her face fall a little. "How good a liar are you, Éponine?"

"I'm… I'm alright, I guess," she shrugged. "Why?"

"Because my thought was that we could have you pose as my widowed housekeeper, with Erik as your son."

"My son?" she repeated.

"It could work, couldn't it?"

"We'd need to lay the ground now, so I don't mess up later," she pointed out. "Get out a piece of paper, and start asking me questions about this life."

"Alright…" he grabbed one of the spare sheets and accepted a pen from Erik. "What was your husband's name?"

"Antoine Madeleine," she answered promptly.

"How long were the two of you married?"

"About a year and a half."

"When was Erik born?"

"About three months after Antoine died."

"How  _did_ Antoine die?"

"In a fire."

"What did he do for a living?"

"Masonry."

"Parents?"

"Both dead, his and mine."

"How long have you been working for me?"

"Four months."

"And you sleep in the attic."

"I do?" she asked, blinking in confusion.

"Yes. You've got a bed, a cradle for Erik, a trunk, a washbasin and a pitcher up there."

"I DO?"

"I just finished it yesterday, after you'd left." He grinned at her. "No one else ever uses it, so why not?"

"A… a place of my own…" Éponine whispered in amazement. "You're spoiling me, you know that?"

"Am I? I never noticed."

"Enjolras…."

"Bastien, remember?"

"Look, I just… I prefer calling you Enjolras. It's what I'm used to."

"Suit yourself. In all seriousness, Éponine, I appreciate how thorough your attention to detail is. It's most likely going to be what saves our hides. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said, fidgeting with one of the black ribbons that dangled off the back of her dress.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong… it's just… I'll have to move out, from what you're saying, and my father won't be too happy about that…"

"You can tell him you're getting hired as a mistress if you want. The money I give you is yours, to do with as you need. I don't care."

"Well…"

"Why don't you think about this while we clean all of these drawings off the wall? Otherwise, the old tyrant is going to want to know why I haven't fired you."

"Oh, alright," she laughed a little. "I wouldn't want that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all those who thought they were gonna have a shotgun wedding: PSYCH! I gotcha! In all fairness, I'm not sure if I pulled off Éponine's suicide attempt well, but you know what they say: "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." And Marius was kind of a prick to her…. Ah, well. And yeah, that was "The Hanging Tree" from Mockingjay. It's been in my head way too much.


	5. Smart Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the newly formed family weathers their first storm, and another first.

**_December 15, 1831_ **

_Mon chere Bastien:_

_Grandpere has commanded me to write to you to tell you that he will be coming to see you over the yuletide season. Obviously he intends to see out the new year with you too._

_I am also joining him. He wanted me to stay with M. Leblanc and his son, but... well... he's looking for potential suitors. And his son... I shudder to think of life with him. But Grandpere expects the same from you. Be careful, frere. Grandpere is angry at my insistence to go with him. It doesn't take much to set him off._

_We'll be with you around the 20th. No arguments. Grandpere is insistent._

_Your loving sister,_

_Marianne_

_Postscript: Do you still have my sketchbook? I've been looking for it…_

Enjolras chuckled. As usual, Marianne's handwriting was the most unladylike she could manage, an untidy, almost masculine scrawl that even he had difficulty deciphering. "Éponine?"

"I'M BUSY WITH THE LAUNDRY!" she hollered. "IF YOU WANT TO TALK TO ME, GET UP HERE!"

"I'M ON MY WAY!" he yelled back, pulling down the ladder that led to the attic.

"BASTIEEEEEEEEEEN!" Erik shouted, jumping down from the loft and into his arms.

"Well, hello, little fellow!" Enjolras laughed, swinging Erik onto his shoulders. "That was a little silly of you, since I was heading up there anyway."

"Sorry…" Erik mumbled as they climbed up the ladder.

"Really, Erik, you shouldn't bother Monsieur Bastien like that," Éponine scolded, looking up from the laundry.

"Sorry, Mama," Erik said, hanging his head. He'd taken very well to treating Éponine as family.

"Oh, you're lucky I can never stay angry with you," she laughed, pulling him over for a hug. Erik giggled as she held him tightly. "You little imp…"

"Wanna see my castles?" Erik asked.

"Maybe later. I'm still working." replied Éponine. Erik started to pout and Enjolras laughed.

"Don't mind her, Erik. I'll see your castles." The little boy grinned and ran over to the trunk, pulling out a thick ream of paper. "Are all of those yours?"

"No. Some of them're yours." Erik said, pulling out a few of his battle maps. "Copied 'em from the walls."

"Every single one of them?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good boy!" Enjolras tousled his hair. "Éponine, did you manage the mask?"

"I've been a little busy… I don't know, it doesn't feel right. I'm used to him without a mask on. Besides, I don't know how to make one, and he's gotten so big so fast…"

"Please don't start getting emotional…"

"Can you believe we've only had him a few months? He's grown up so much, the little dear!"

"Stop babying him, will you?" scolded Enjolras. "You're going to turn him soft."

"Oh, nonsense," Éponine retorted. "Go on, show Monsieur Bastien your castles. Now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Grandpere and Marianne are going to be here in five days."

"I don't see how that would be a problem. We've cleaned up very well." she said cheerfully.

"Have you managed everything?"

"My parents think I'm spending the next few months pretending to be a maid in an old man's house. I just have to bring them twenty francs every month."

"Manageable enough. Oh!" Enjolras took a look at the sheet of paper Erik had pressed into his hand. "My God, Erik, did you draw this all by yourself?"

"Uh-huh!" Erik said proudly.

"Éponine, you've got to take a look at this!" Enjolras called, running his fingers along the delicately drawn whirls and spires. This did not in the least look like the work of a boy who was less than a year old. Then again, nothing about Erik really indicated his age. "Precocious little rascal. Are you da Vinci and Mozart reborn as one?" Erik only giggled and climbed on his shoulders again. "Get off me!"

"Never-never-never," sang Erik, pulling at his blond hair.

"Ow, ow, ow! Éponine, a little help here, please!"

"Hmmm… I don't think so."

"WHAT?"

"It's adorable, he's like a little monkey on you!" she laughed. "And besides, I'm still busy cleaning your coat!"

"PLEASE?"

"No."

"I'm begging you!" Enjolras yelled as Erik pushed him down to the floor. "Thish ishn't fun for me!" he said, his voice muffled by the floor. "And there'sh dusht on thish floor…"

"Sorry, I'll sweep it later. Come on, Erik, get off Monsieur Bastien." Éponine picked Erik up by the scruff of his neck and carried him over to his cradle. "Sorry about that…"

"Do that again, and I'll have to fire you," he warned teasingly. Éponine scowled at him and picked up the broom by her bed. "I was joking…. No, no, don't… Éponine, please…"

"AAAAAGH!" she screamed, waving it at him wildly, swatting him towards the ladder.

"No! NO! The trapdoor is still open!" he yelled, spreading his arms out to stop himself from falling.

"Oh!" She froze with the broom over her head. "Ah… should I…"

"Put the broom down and help me!" he barked. Erik giggled from his cradle as Éponine set the broom on the floor and took his hand. Hers were still wet from washing but her grip was firm as she pulled him upright.

"Remind me never to do that again?"

"Absolutely."

**_December 16, 1831_ **

Éponine left the house in the early hours. Erik was asleep in his cradle and Enjolras was sprawled across his bed. She needed the fresh air. The early winter breeze cut through the worn flannel shawl she had wrapped over her shoulders and she shivered.

"Éponine?" She turned to see Montparnasse standing under a nearby lamp post. His handsome features were widened in surprise. "I almost didn't recognize you, you… you look respectable."

"You look as you always do," she said coolly.

"Is that the old codger's house?" he asked, jabbing a finger at Enjolras' home.

"Yeah, that's where I'm working."

"Why didn't you tell me?" He sounded hurt.

"Really, 'Parnasse, does it matter?"

"I thought we were… that we…"

"You thought wrong. Now, will you let me by?" She tried to side-step him, but he crossed into her path again. "Montparnasse, please!"

"Please, she says. Like some kind of lady. What happened to my 'Ponine?"

"I was never yours." He grabbed her shoulders and she wriggled against him. "Let me go! You let me go right now!"

"DIDN'T YOU HEAR HER?" A loud bang rang out shattering the glass panes of lamp post. Both Éponine and Montparnasse turned to see Enjolras standing in the doorway, his red coat pulled rather hurriedly over his night clothes. His blonde hair was wild and his eyes blazed as he brandished a smoking rifle. "Assault is a crime, monsieur, and as her employer, I can assure you, I will see you receive the maximum penalty. Now, step away from her."

" _He's_  the one you're working for?" Montparnasse demanded. "You lied to us?"

"'Parnasse…" Éponine took advantage of his loosened grip to pull away and run to Enjolras "They need me…"

"For WHAT?"

Enjolras cocked the gun and aimed it at Montparnasse. "I won't ask you again. Leave her alone, before I call the police."

"No, don't," whispered Éponine, clinging to his arm. "Bastien, please. He was my friend once."

"Once?" Montparnasse repeated. "Well, I wasn't made aware of this. I'll give my regards to your parents, shall I, 'Ponine?"

"No! No, don't!" she shrieked. "They can't know! They can't!"

"Why should that matter to me? It isn't as though I'm your friend."

"Let him do it, Éponine. It won't matter." Bastien said firmly.

"We'll just have to wait and see, won't we, rich boy? We'll wait and see. Éponine, I bid you adieu." With a small smirk, Montparnasse blew her a kiss on the blade of his knife and disappeared into the shadows.

"Éponine, are you alright?" Bastien held her at arm's length. "Did he hurt you?"

"No… no, I'm fine. Bastien, what… why did you do that?"

"I… It seemed like the right thing to do…" he stammered. "C-come back inside now, will you?"

"You're shivering…" she said, pulling off her shawl and wrapping it around his shoulders. " _You_  go inside."

"Mightn't we compromise, and both go inside?" he asked, a small trace of cheek leaking into his tone. She scowled and yanked at a cluster of his hair.

"Smart mouth." For a moment, he didn't reply, or even move. Then, he bent down and pressed his mouth to hers.

It wasn't her first kiss. That one had been from Montparnasse, full of violence, anger, and experience. Enjolras kissed her as though they were two school children hiding in a corner of the yard, stealing a moment. He started out tender and allowed it to grow, building off of what she gave him, never overstepping his boundaries. And she liked it, no… that wasn't right. She  _loved_ it. Enjolras' kiss was everything she'd imagined every time she'd thought of Marius kissing her. "Yes," he whispered as they pulled away. "Yes, I suppose I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, there it finally is, the kiss I'm sure most, if not all of you were waiting for. Hope it makes up for a fairly short chappie!


	6. The Coming Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are some very different morning-after events.

**_December 16, 1831_ **

Enjolras awoke with his back pressed against the wall, and Éponine nestled into his chest. Her face was very different, far more relaxed than usual, the little crease between her eyes absent. He almost hated to wake her, but she had rolled onto his legs. "Hey. Hey, Éponine. Wake up."

"Nggghh…" she mumbled, turning onto her side. Her brown eyes flickered open drowsily and then cleared. "We're in the same bed."

"Yes."

"Clothes still on?"

"Yes."

"Good," she muttered, shifting to free him. "Sorry about that."

"Why? We obviously didn't do anything, so what does it matter?" he pointed out as he got to his feet and started towards open the trap door.

"Right…" she said dully. "Watch out, you left your gun on the floor." Enjolras caught himself just as he would have stumbled over it.

"Oh…. Thank you."

"Now go get downstairs before you miss today's meeting."

" _Merde_! The meeting! I could be late!" He kicked the door open and scrambled down the ladder, running for the door.

"Don't forget to put on trousers," she called out.

"Oh… right… nightclothes."

"And you left your coat up here."

"I'll get it in a moment!"

"Do you have enough money to buy something if you get hungry?"

"I'm fine!"

"Something to hit Grantaire on the head with if he gets drunk?"

"When don't I?"

"You should probably grab a thick cravat, it's supposed to be cold—"

"Éponine! I'm fine!" he laughed. "You don't need to fuss over me as though you're my mother!"

"Sorry." She slid down the ladder to face him. "I just… I worry about you. Especially after last night."

"If that bastard comes back, I can take him."

"Not if the whole Patron-Minette is with him."

"Just trust me. Please?" He leaned in and kissed her gently. "If you do, I'll have something special for you when I return, alright?"

"Oh, fine. But only because you're insisting. Now, put your trousers, your boots, and your coat on, and get to the meeting."

"Fussing again."

"Go!"

"I'm going!" he yelled back as he wrapped his cravat lazily around his neck and shoved his legs into his trousers. When he came out of his room, Éponine was leaning against the door frame, holding out his coat on her hooked fingers. "Thank you."

"Don't you dare be late."

"I won't," he promised, leaning in for one final kiss before slipping out the door.

* * *

"Mamamamamama!" Erik tugged at Éponine's skirt. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!"

"For the last time, Erik, I am not going to play with you until we're done cleaning the guest rooms. Have you finished under the bed?" She looked down at him and gasped. Erik was covered from head to toe in dust, turning him slightly grey. "Oh, good grief! Now I'm going to have to make you take another bath."

"NOOOOOOO! NO BATH!"

"Yes, bath."

"NO FAAAAAAAAAAIR!"

"Yes, fair."

"STOOOOOOOOP!"

"What is going on up there?" a shrill voice from downstair shouted.

" _Et merde_ … Erik, dear, stay here until I get back."

"DUUUUUUUUUUUUUST!" Erik shrieked, diving under the bed again. Éponine brushed off her hands on her apron and went to answer the door. The fat, wrinkled face of Madame Laroche stared up at her.

"Er... hello, Madame."

"Gunshots in the wee hours, banging around like madmen in the morning, and now this awful din!" the old woman screeched. "Madame Madeleine, I really must protest!"

"It's no easy feat raising a child on my own, Madame! If you don't like it, I'm sorry, but Monsieur Enjolras was the only one willing to employ me. Now, I have quite a bit of cleaning to do, so if you will excuse me—"

"I will be having words with your employer!"

"You do that, Madame. Good day." Éponine closed the door, rolling her eyes. "Old cow…"

"Mooooooo!"

"Erik!"

"Mooooooo!"

"Crazy little boy," she muttered, heading back into the guest room. Erik was jumping up and down on the bed, leaving dusty footprints on the clean blanket. "Oh, no! No, no, no! Get off there right now!"

"Awww, but—"

"Erik, do you want a spanking?"

"Nooooooo!"

"Then. Get. Off. The. Bed. Now." Erik pouted, but hopped down onto the floor. "Go start a bath. I'll be in to wash you in a moment, after I've stripped this.  _Again_."

"Is there any particular reason why I was accosted by our hideous neighbor when I got home this evening?" Enjolras called, slamming the door behind him.

" _Someone_  was caterwauling because I wouldn't play with him, and now I've got to wash the blankets in here  _again_."

"Is that why Erik's grey?"

"Er…. Yes. I asked him to clean under the bed while I made it. When the old cow came up here, I left him alone for five minutes, and I come back to find him bouncing on the bed. I'm sorry—"

"He should be the one apologizing after he's taken his bath."

"NO BAAAAAAAAAAAAAATH!" Erik yelled from the kitchen.

"Erik, you're getting a bath, and then you are helping Éponine clean the blanket."

"Awwwwwww…"

"You heard me, young man. I'll wash you myself if I have to."

"But—"

"NOW." Enjolras called over his shoulder as he entered the bedroom. "Let me help you with that."

"I'm fine, thank you."

"You fuss over me, I'm going to fuss over you."

"You make it sound as if we're married." Éponine retorted snidely, whipping the end of the blanket at him.

"Do I?"

"Yes, you do."

"That's disgusting. Now, give us a kiss?" he asked, stepping closer as they brought the ends of the blanket together.

"Indulging you is the last thing I want to do right now, Monsieur," she replied, sassily flicking his nose. "I have my job to consider."

"What if I were to give you a pay raise?"

"I'll think about it. After I've finished working."

"Hmph," he sat on the bed, scowling.

"Get off there!"

"I don't think I will."

"Bastien Enjolras, I am warning you, if you don't—" He stood up and silenced her with another kiss. "Mmmph!" she squeaked, pushing him away. "You can't just kiss me every time we're about to argue!"

"I can't?"

"No, you can't. Besides, you already have a mistress. Patria, remember her?"

"Well, the thing about having a mistress is that she can't get put out if I have a second one."

"Just so long as you keep your priorities in line," she warned. "We can't let this get out of hand. Especially seeing as I'm a widow." The reminder of their ruse seemed to jolt him back to reality.

"Well, that's one way to put a damper on a relationship," he grumbled. "I'll go help Erik with his bath."

"Thank you," she kissed his cheek as she headed over to the trap door. "Be sure to bring up a bucket or two so I can clean that damn blanket again."

"I will, don't worry."

* * *

**_December 19, 1831_ **

"Enjolras?"

"Hmmm?" Enjolras looked up from reorganizing his maps. "Oh. 'Ferre. What is it?"

"Are you hiding something from us?"

"What? No! Don't be ridiculous."

"Are you certain?"

"Combeferre, you know the Revolution is my first priority always."

"But are there other priorities?" Combeferre asked, pulling up a chair alongside Enjolras and putting his blue coat to the side. "You've been acting strange over the last few months. I can't fathom what it might be."

"If I am keeping a secret, it's not one that I'm about to share where that drunken arse might hear me." He jabbed his thumb at Grantaire, who was nursing a bottle of absinthe in the corner. "Even when he's sodding, I don't trust him."

"Then could we talk at your home?"

"No, that's probably not a good idea."

"Why not?"

"My grandfather's coming." Combeferre made a sound like he'd just been strangled. "You see my dilemma."

"What does that old Royalist want from you now?"

"The usual. Submission, conversion, marriage."

"Marriage? You? Any dull headed socialite wed to you would find herself in quite a neglected position."

"You know that, but the old goat seems convinced he can change me. Ha!"

"And your sister?"

"What, Marianne?" Enjolras raised a brow. "What interest do you have in my sister?"

"None whatsoever." Combeferre blurted. "It's simply that you talk about her frequently. I thought I might as well get that portion of the conversation done with."  _Liar_ , Enjolras thought. It was fairly clear Combeferre was infatuated with the idea of a girl like Marianne. "So?"

"She's coming with him. It was that, or stay behind with potential suitors."

"So, we could meet at my flat, then."

"I need to get back home. Make sure everything's in order for him. I'm not about to upset him before the proper moment?"

"That being?"  
"Telling him I'm still planning to lead the Revolution while he's taking a good long sip of wine."

"He'll choke on it!"

"One can always hope."

"Enjolras!"

"Well, I can!"

"He's your grandfather, surely he's got to have at least one redeeming quality."

"He's old. That means there's a better chance of him dying."

"Even for you, that's more than a little dark."

"Luc." That got Combeferre's attention. Marius and Jehan were really the only one who went by their first names, everyone else simply used their surnames. "I'm sorry. But I just… I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to handle that old fool. Please… I just want to go home."

"Alright, I'm sorry. I'll see you when you're released."

* * *

"I'm home!"

"Your dinner's on the table," Éponine called as she squinted at the cake in front of her. "Could you come in here for a moment?"

"Of course." Enjolras entered the room, dropping his coat in the doorway and rolling up his shirtsleeves. "Hey, that looks good."

"Touch this cake before tomorrow, and I will be furious," she warned, swatting away his hand. "Now, does the icing look balanced to you?"

"No, there's this glob right here that I could lick off—"

"No."

"Oh, come on, I'm starving!"

"You've got a perfectly good dinner sitting on the table and getting cold, eat that!" she scolded, smoothing out the imbalance with her knife. "See? No licking needed." Enjolras scowled at her, and sat at the table, eating in an almost feral manner. "Not like that, you'll give yourself a stomach ache!"

"I DO WHAT I WANT, ÉPONINE."

"Fine. I'm going upstairs to put Erik to bed. If you so much as  _touch_  that cake, I'll have your head." She set the knife down and wiped her hands off on her apron.

"Wait…"

"Yes?" she paused in the doorway. "What is it?" Enjolras stood and walked over to her, taking her hand. Éponine felt her heart banging against her ribs, practically trying to escape her body. "B...Bastien…"

"I've been thinking about this for some time, actually, and Combeferre essentially confirmed it today. Anyone from what is considered my social circle would be a poor match for me. You are the only woman besides my sister with whom I've ever felt as though I can be myself. It is a slim chance that I will even survive the barricades—"

"Don't talk that way!"

"Listen to me. If I die, I want to ensure that you and Erik are provided for. I checked extensively, and the only that I can legally do that is if you are family. Besides that, I genuinely care for the both of you."

"Bastien, what… What are you saying?"

"I'm saying…. I'm asking you to marry me, Éponine Thénardier. For better or worse, Erik has brought us together, and we're a family, now. I want us to make it official."

"But your grandfather—"

"Remember what I told you? My inheritance from my parents can be mine once I've married or turned thirty. I can effectively emancipate myself from the old goat. And make sure you and Erik have a future, even if I don't." He squeezed her hand gently. "I know that you care for Marius. But he still hasn't noticed you, and I'm sorry to say I don't think he ever will. I'm not asking you to love me the way you do him, only that you let me continue to have you in my life." Éponine sniffled, shuddering slightly. "What is it?"

"You  _care_ ," she whispered. "You  _care_ , you actually want me here. Not because I'm useful, or you have to keep me… You want  _me._ "

"That's all? That's why you're crying? Of course I want you, and yes, I care about you. I don't know how anyone couldn't care about you. You're a good person, Éponine. You're kind, and… don't you see what you're like with Erik? You're a wonderful mother. Anyone would be… I'm lucky to have you in my life."

"Then, yes. Yes, I will. So you'd better make sure you survive, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear." Her new fiancé smiled, and Éponine felt something cool and smooth sliding onto the third finger of her left hand. She looked down to see a simple silver band with a single diamond in the center sitting on it. "There. Now it's official."

"Oh, Bastien…" she whispered. "I can't believe it…"

"Well, do. Because it's real."


	7. An Annoyance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the rest of the Enjolras clan arrives in Paris

**_December 20, 1831_ **

"Everything's ready, right?" Éponine asked, rearranging the tea set on the table.

"Yes, now, will you please breathe?" Enjolras asked, kneading her shoulders. Éponine exhaled heavily. "You don't need to worry so much."

"But what if—" she was cut off by the doorbell ringing. "Oh, merde. Oh, merde… I'm so scared…"

"Why don't I get the door?" he said, smoothing hair back from her face. "You just relax."

"I'll try," she whispered, sucking in a breath. He gave her a brief kiss on the cheek before heading down to the doorway. The moment he opened the door, he was hit in the chest by the petite brunette figure of his sister. "Ooof! Marianne!"

"I missed you!"

"That's sweet, sister dear, but I currently cannot breathe, so if you would kindly release me."

"Sebastien." The siblings turned to see their stern grey-faced grandfather stepping out of the carriage. "Such informality is unsuitable to one of your station."

"Glad to see you as well, Grandfather," Enjolras said coolly as Marianne loosened her grip around him. "Please. Come inside. There's plenty of food and drink."

"Good! I'm starving!" Marianne grinned, running inside and clutching at her skirts in a way that very clearly revealed her ankles. Enjolras chuckled at her subtle rebellions. "Well, come on, then!"

"One would think it was her flat and not mine," Enjolras muttered, reluctantly helping the old man into the house and up the stairs. Marianne giggled and readjusted her hair carelessly as he unlocked the door.

"Hello!" Éponine chirped cheerfully the moment they stepped in.

"Oh!" Marianne's eyes widened. "Bastien, who's this? She's quite pretty!" Éponine blushed at the comment.

"My name's Éponine, Mam'selle. I'm Monsieur Bastien's housekeeper. He's been very good to me."

"How long has she been here?"

"Four months, sir," Éponine answered Grandpere, giving a quick curtsy. The old man raised an eyebrow. "I'll go fetch the biscuits, and then see to dinner." The moment she'd disappeared, Grandpere turned back to look and Enjolras.

"I trust she's married?" he asked pointedly.

"Widowed, actually. A fire, three months before her son was born."

"Oh, she has a son?" Marianne asked. "May we meet him?"

"Probably best that you don't, Mam'selle," Éponine said quietly as she placed a platter of cakes on the table. "Erik's a very shy child, and not very healthy. Besides that, people scare him easily."

"Oh, the poor thing!" Marianne sighed, biting into one of the cakes.

"Marianne, do not talk with your mouth full."

"Sorry, Grandpere." she retorted unapologetically. "And I'm quite sorry about your husband."

"Well, he is enjoying the kingdom of heaven, Mam'selle. I should think he is happier there than he ever was on earth," Éponine replied, turning in the doorway to give another quick curtsy. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

"Oh, of course! I didn't mean to deter you from the task at hand! Maybe I could help you," Marianne gave her grandfather a very pointed look, "to better learn what will be expected of me when I marry." Saying so, she set her teacup down and rose to flounce into the kitchen.

"Women." Grandpere scoffed.

"Really, for your own granddaughter, I'd expect a little more leniency," Enjolras said coldly. "Times are changing, Grandpere."

"Changing for the worst."

"That's a matter of perspective. Personally, I find it to be quite  _liberating_."

" _Pfuit_!"

"Grandpere, I mean it. This people of this country need to attain a state of equilibrium. More like the Americans."

"Americans. Bah! Where were they when we needed them?"

"Not the war stories again, please—"

"We saved the ingrates during their fight against England, and how do they repay us?"

"Grandpere, I'm tired of hearing these…."

"A man should fight for his—"

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK I'M DOING, YOU IMBECILE?!"

"Imbecile! Fine respect you have for your grandfather!" The old man coughed aside. "Have I taught you nothing?"

"You taught me much, I simply chose not to retain it," Enjolras answered snidely.

"You wound me, Sebastien."

Enjolras took a deep breath. "Grandpere, I will respect your opinions if you will respect mine. I have just as many thoughts and feelings as you do, and I am a grown man."

"Without any real means. You could not last a month without my support."

"I could so!" Enjolras snapped. "You're making it incredibly difficult for me to hold my temper. I've been trying to keep my animosity at bay thus far—"

"Dinner!" Éponine called, sticking her head out of the kitchen.  _Perfect timing_ , Enjolras thought gratefully as Éponine gave him a quick wink.

"She gave me the first taste, it's marvelous!" Marianne added, carrying out the platter. "Where'd you learn to make chicken like this?"

"My parents, Lord rest their souls, owned an inn," Éponine said cryptically. "I learned quite a lot there."

"Did you really? It sounds fascinating, I'd love to stay a night in an inn."

"Not until I'm dead, you won't, young lady."

"Oh, but, Grandpere—"

"Hold your tongue," the old man barked. Marianne made a face as she helped Éponine sort the slices of chicken onto the plates.

"I'll be upstairs if you need anything else, Monsieur," Éponine said as she finished serving. "May I?"  
"Of course, Éponine. Thank you." Enjolras smiled warmly and winked at her. She bent her head to hide the smile tugging at the corners of her lips before hurrying up to her loft.

"I like her," Marianne said brightly, cutting off a piece of chicken. "Can she come back with us to Rennes?"  
"No." Grandpere said firmly. "No, we are not picking up strays."

"You talk about her as if she were a cat, not a human being," Enjolras muttered.

"Sebastien, speak clearly or do not speak at all. You're as bad as your sister with your mumbling."

"My apologies, Grandpere," Enjolras said sarcastically. "I don't have company over very often, so you'll have to excuse me."

"That's better."

Éponine pulled her head away from the crack in the floorboard. Damn, Enjolras was good at laying it on thick. She pitied Marianne for having to put up with an old coot like that all the time. "What do you think, Erik, would you want a grandfather like mean old Monsieur Enjolras?"

"Uh-uh!" Erik shook his head emphatically and blew a raspberry. Éponine giggled and tweaked his nose. "Ow!"

"Sorry, dear. I'll stop."

"Tell me story!"

"Oh, very well." She picked up the book of fairy tales Enjolras had given them from the bed.

"No! Make one up!"

"Oh! Well, all right, then!" Éponine twisted her fingers together, trying to think of something. "Once upon a time, there was a little boy—"

"Name Erik?"

"No, silly. His name was Gavroche. Gavroche lived with his mama and papa, and all his brothers and sisters in a little town where they had an inn. Gavroche was a very sweet little boy, but his parents were not. They were very mean, stealing from good people. So, Gavroche decided to take his brothers and run away."

"Not his sisters?"

"No, his sisters didn't want to go. They wanted to stay with their parents. So, Gavroche and his brothers set off together, and found a kind old lady to stay with. But as he got bigger, Gavroche got bored, and ran off to the biggest city he could find. And do you know what he found there?"

"What?"

"He found his parents and his biggest sister."

"What happened to his other sister?"

"She ran away. Gavroche and the bigger sister started visiting each other, telling stories, trying to be family again. Then, something special happened."

"What? Tell me! Tell me!"

"The big sister found a baby. A very special baby, and she found someone to share him with?"

"Big sister was you!" Erik said with a grin.

"Clever boy." Éponine tousled the little shock of hair that was starting to grow on the top of his head. "Yes, Gavroche is my baby brother, and I suppose you could say he's your uncle."

"Can I see him?"

"I… I really hadn't thought about that. Maybe when the nasty old man goes back, you can. But not my parents." She shuddered at the thought.

"Mama?"

"Yes, Erik?"

"What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing," she said firmly, gathering him into her arms and holding him close. "Anyone who would give you up is an idiot, Erik. You're clever, and good, and wonderful. I'm very lucky to have you. I love you, so much. I don't care that your face is a little different from everyone else's. I still love you, so much. Different isn't wrong. It's just… different. Now, give us a kiss, and let's get you to bed."

"I love you," Erik said, obediently pressing his swollen lips against her cheek. "Good night."

"Good night, little one."

**_December 21, 1831_ **

Éponine groggily awoke to hear the sound of a rap on the trap door. "Ugggh, coming," she mumbled, rolling out of bed and grabbing the handle. Enjolras's tangled blonde hair rose above the opening. "What time is it?"

"Just past one," he answered, hoisting himself up to sit on the ledge of the trap door. "I don't know if I can take another three days of him."

"He mentioned the revolution. Doesn't that mean you have common ground?"

"He supported Napoleon. So, no, we don't."

"Oh…" she sat silently on the bed, chewing her lip. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything. What is it?"

"Christmas is in a few days, and I don't know what to get you."

"Éponine, it's really not necessary."

"I want to."

"I know you do, but I've never really celebrated Christmas."

"Never?"

"Éponine, given who I was raised by, are you really surprised?"

"I suppose not. So why don't we break with tradition?" She noticed his stony face. "Oh, ugh, he's staying until Christmas, isn't he?"

"Leaving on the twenty-sixth," Enjolras confirmed miserably. "'Tis the season,' indeed."

"Can we really keep Erik hidden another five days?"

"We wouldn't have to if you'd just let me slip a little arsenic into his nightcap."

"NO."

"He's an old man!"

"Then grant him the dignity of a natural death! He's still your grandfather."

"It really means that much to you?"

"I just got out of the habit of breaking the law, I'm not about to get back into it, and you definitely shouldn't. You're already planning a rebellion, you don't need a homicide. It only makes things messier. Speaking of," she headed over to the trunk and pulled out a bundle. "I'd better head out."

"What? Why?"

"I've been putting it off long enough. I need to go see my parents."


	8. Snowfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Éponine meets someone from her past, and Marianne meets the Amis.

_**December 21, 1831** _

Éponine sucked in a breath as she shivered again. She'd forgotten how flimsy and cold her old clothes were. Ahead, Gorbeau House loomed creepily in the foggy moon light. As she drew closer, she whistled the old tune her father used to sing at the inn. "Who the hell is that at this hour?" Her mother's voice came hoarsely from one of the cracked windows.

"Mother, keep your voice down!" Éponine hissed.

"Oh, look, it's the lying little ingrate!"

"Mother! Let me in!"

"Well, I'm sorry, but we haven't got a house keeper!"

"Mother, stop being dramatic." Éponine reached into her boots and pulled out the simple chain and locket she'd bought off an old woman for ten francs. "Let me in, and I'll give it to you." Sure enough, her mother's dark eyes glinted greedily at the sight of the trinket.

"Fine. But you have explaining to do, little mademoiselle."

"I know." Éponine grumbled, running up to the door just as her mother opened it. For a moment, mother and daughter stood silently in the dingy little foyer. Then, Éponine let out a sniffle. Then a sob. And she collapsed into her mother's arms. "Oh, Maman..."

"What on earth has gotten into you, child?" Nicole Thénardier demanded in alarm. "You haven't done this since you were a little girl!"

"Mother, I don't want to be like this. I don't want to be a thief, or a whore. I just want to be happy. You used to want that for me, too..."

"Things change, Éponine. Our situation changed, and it wasn't possible anymore."

"But it is, Mother! That's what I've found! I know I lied to you, but I didn't know how to explain it." She looked around, realizing something. "Where's Father?"

"Out with the boys." Nicole answered.

"Can I trust you to keep this a secret from him?"

"Éponine–"

"Please. Be my maman who wants me to be happy, just for tonight?" Her mother raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. "I'm still bringing in the money, I promise. But what I tell you has to be secret. Please?"

"Ah, very well. I'll keep the secret."

"In September, I found a little baby left to die under a bridge, and now I'm... Well, I guess you could say I've adopted him. We live in the attic of a student, who pays me to watch the baby, and clean up the flat. And I like him a lot."

"Does he like you?"

"Well enough," Éponine rubbed her left hand awkwardly. "I just... I didn't want you pressuring me to get into his bed. I'm making decent money, more than I would out on the streets. If I don't like it, I'll leave, simple as that."

"You're sure about this?"

"Of course I am." Éponine leaned in for one more hug. "I love you, Mother. Even if things have changed. And tell Father I love him, too."

"You've gotten soft, Ponine." Nicole clucked her tongue.

"Am I supposed to care about that?" Éponine tossed the locket into her mother's hands and slipped out the door. New snow was starting to fall around her, catching on her eyelashes and nose. Her bare feet crunched on the snow that was already on the ground. "La la la la la la la la," she sang softly, pulling her threadbare shawl closer around her shoulders.

"La la la la la la la la," a quivering voice answered. Éponine turned to see a blonde girl in a thick white robe, with a pair of oddly familiar green eyes sitting on a little stone bench by an iron wrought gate. "You know that song, too?" the girl asked, standing up and coming closer. Éponine stepped in to meet her and nodded.

"I knew a little girl, she used to always sing it while she worked at my parents' inn."

"The Sergeant at Waterloo?" the girl asked haltingly.

 _Oh, mon Dieu, it can't be._  "Cosette?"

"E... Éponine?" Cosette shrank back a little, probably remembering how horribly Éponine had treated her when they were children.

"You remember me?"

"I remember things, now and then. We... were we friends?" the blonde asked, furrowing her brows in thought.

"Not exactly," Éponine chewed her lip, trying to think of the best way to phrase it. "We were children together. But... I suppose we could be friends now, start over again..."

"I'd like that." Cosette laced her fingers around the iron twists of the gate. "I don't really have many friends. It's just me and Papa here."

"Cosette!" a man's voice called. "Come inside, you'll catch your death of cold, this late at night!"

"I'm coming, Papa!" Cosette answered, before turning back to Éponine. "He usually lets me visit the Luxembourg Gardens in the afternoon. Perhaps we could meet there tomorrow?"

"I'll be waiting. Cosette?"

"Yes?"

"It's... it's good to see you again." Éponine said before running back home. Enjolras was waiting for her out on the steps. "Oh, have you been out here long?"

"Not too long. Fifteen minutes, at most."

"Your grandfather?"

"Passed out from all the wine I got into him last night. Marianne's been pestering me about going to today's meeting."

"You should take her. She'd probably like your friends." Éponine smiled a little. "Just keep her away from Marius."

"You have my word. But I feel bad about leaving you with Grandpere."

"Oh, I know how to keep a person asleep." She smiled brightly. "You go have some fun with your sister."

"If you're certain."

"I am." Éponine said. "But why is she up? The sun's only just started to rise."

"Marianne's a firm believer in early rising. She's always up with the sun. She calls it the best time for revolution."

"She sounds like you."

"Does she really?" Enjolras asked.

"You know she does." Éponine answered, rolling her eyes as she opened the door and made her way towards the loft. "She's your sister, how could she be anything else?"

"You've got a point. Erik woke up while you were gone."

"Is he all right?"

"Yes, I managed to quiet him down. But you should be more careful. You know he has abandonment issues."

"I just thought he got lonely easily."

"Well, that is part of it. My guess is, even though he was a baby, he still has faint memories of being abandoned, and that makes him scared of it."

"Oh... Oh, now I feel terrible." Éponine mumbled, pulling down the ladder.

"Mama? Mama? Mama?" Erik's wavering voice called out. "Mama? Mama? Mama?"

"How long has he been doing that?"

"Ever since he woke up."

"Mama? Mama? Mama?"

"I'm coming, Erik. Don't worry."

"Mama!" Erik ran to the trap door and jumped down into her arms. "You scared me!"

"I'm sorry, Erik. I didn't mean to. I just needed to take care of something. I won't do it again. I promise." The little boy nuzzled his head into her shoulder and latched his arms around her neck as she climbed up. "Bastien? You coming up, too?"

"No, I have a sister to spend time with, remember?"

"Glad to hear you remembered me." They both turned to see Marianne standing int the corner of the parlor. "So, this is your son, Éponine? Why's he got a mask on?"

"Marianne, don't pry." Enjolras scolded. "It's not your business."

"I only want to meet him!" Marianne whined.

"Not right now, he needs his rest, and we are going to be late. I called a long meeting, since some of us are going back home for Christmas." Enjolras grabbed his sister by the arm. "Come on, you."

"But, Bastieeeeeen—"

"Don't you start griping, you'll wake up Grandpere." He pushed her out the door. "We'll see you tonight, Éponine. Good luck with the old geezer."

"We'll be fine." Éponine called as she carried Erik into his cradle. "Have fun."

* * *

"Why does her son wear a mask?" Marianne asked again.

"Éponine doesn't say, and it's none of my business, honestly. I think it might have something to do with him looking like her late husband."

"You mean like how I couldn't look at you after Maman and Papa died?"

"Yes, exactly. You should be a little more sensitive about it."

"I didn't —"

"I know you were just curious, but there's a time and a place. If Éponine wants to tells you about it, she will. You have until Christmas, after all."

"I know, I know…"

"Hey, Enjolras! Wait up!" Enjolras turned to see Marius running after them.

"Oh, so you're actually coming to a meeting rather than sulking around?"

"Your grandfather's come, hasn't he?" Marius asked, ignoring the jibe. "And this is your sister?"

"I'm Marianne. Pleased to meet you, Monsieur…?"

"This is  _Baron_  Marius Pontmercy," Enjolras explained derisively.

"You've made your disdain for my inherited title and political views very clear, Enjolras," Marius sulked a little. "But that doesn't mean you need to mar your sister's impression of me."

"What are you even doing up this early? You're usually always one of the last ones there!"

"I walked out on Grandfather, so I no longer have anything or anyone to go home to for Christmas. I wanted to spend the time with you all, or at least Courfeyrac, if you're going to keep antagonizing me."

"Bravo on some showing of bravado."

"Someone's missing his Christmas spirit," Courfeyrac remarked, falling in with the group. "Who's the dark haired beauty, Enjolras?"

"That's my sister, and stop trying to stare down her dress."

"I was not staring down her dress!" Courfeyrac protested. "I don't stoop that low when I'm appreciating a woman's looks."

"You'll have to humour him, he's always in this foul mood whenever he's around Grandpere," explained Marianne. "But he doesn't have to live with the old man, so I don't know why he's complaining."

"You know he'd disinherit the both of us if you were to start living with me, little sister."

"So why can't I just put arsenic in his nightcap? He's old enough!" Enjolras rolled his eyes at how much she sounded like Éponine.

"I will not have you be made a murderer, little one."

"Hmph." Marianne tossed her hair over her shoulder.

"Oh, she's definitely Bastien's sister," Courfeyrac chuckled. "Just wait till Grantaire sees her."

"I'm counting on you to keep him drinking the whole time." warned Enjolras. "Can you do that?"

"Easily."


	9. Tis The Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the family has their first real Christmas

**_December 24, 1831_ **

"MERRY CHRISTMAS!" Éponine yelled, running along the streets and tossing holly into the air. Erik giggled from where she had tied him to her back. Cosette came to the gate, laughing brightly. "Merry Christmas, 'Sette!"

"And to you, too!" Cosette smiled warmly, smoothing down her green velvet dress. "Is this the little boy you told me about?"

"Mhmm! This is Erik, the boy I adopted with my fiancé. Erik, say hello to Cosette." Erik looked shyly away. "Oh, come on, she's not going to bite you."

"You're pretty," he mumbled, making Cosette laugh again.

"And you're sweet," she answered. "Wait right there, I'll be back with a few Christmas cakes for you." Erik's face brightened at the word cakes and he clapped his hands, watching eagerly as Cosette hurried inside.

"Well, someone's getting spoiled on his first Christmas," Éponine muttered, trying not to laugh. Erik had taken a shine to the holiday, and his cheer was infectious, especially given the miserable Christmases she'd had over the past few years.

"If you can't spoil a child, who can you spoil?" asked Cosette, returning with a small, wrapped package, which she passed through the gate. "You tell your mama to be nicer to you, Erik." She pinched his unmasked cheek, making him shriek happily. "Éponine, can I ask why he's—"

"The mask is to cover burns on his face." Éponine answered, giving the short version. "We're trying not to give Bastien's grandfather a heart attack."

"Oh. I understand."

"Cosette!"

"I'm coming, Papa!" Cosette yelled, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, he still treats me like a child…"

"Merry Christmas. I'm sorry I didn't have anything for you."

"Oh, rubbish, I don't need anything," Cosette scoffed. "You just have a good time."

"We will! Merry Christmas," Éponine said again, turning back towards Enjolras' flat. She passed a few carolers on her way, and Erik started humming along.

"Spare a sou, kind madame?" a little boy lisped on the side of the road. Éponine smiled sadly at him and held out two coins. "Oh, I can't take this much!"

"Call it a Christmas gift," she said gently. "Buy yourself a nice little scarf."

"Thank you!" The boy laughed, running off laughing. Éponine forced herself to keep smiling and not let her tears show. All the little children who are going home to nothing but cold, if they even have a home…

"Éponine, you might want to open your eyes before you knock into that lamp post." Bastien laughed. Éponine blushed, but stopped inches from the post. "Did your visit have that profound an effect on you?"

"Can we buy Christmas dinner for a poor family tomorrow?"

"Well, I suppose so," Bastien shrugged. "We do have the money for it. Why?"

"Maybe it's just my own past experience, but I feel bad for them. I used to be one of them."

"Touché. We'll buy someone a turkey tomorrow. Now, you should get inside, Marianne wants to draw with Erik. Again."

"They've been at it every day since we introduced him! Can she get any more attached to that boy?"

"Someone sounds jealous." Bastien teased with a grin, and Éponine huffed as she unwrapped Erik from her back. "What's he got in his hand?"

"Christmas cakes from Cosette, a friend of mine. He called her pretty, and she thought he was the most adorable thing she'd ever seen."

"She has good taste," agreed Bastien, lifting Erik up onto his own shoulders. "Doesn't she, Erik?"

"She's pretty," Erik said again.

"Prettier than your mother?"

"No!"

"Oh, come on, the two of you are biased," Éponine scolded as she climbed the stairs, sniffing the air. "Are you roasting chestnuts?"

"Yes, I hope you don't mind, Grandpere likes them," Marianne apologized, poking at the fire. "Erik! There's my favorite little artist!"

"Rianne, Rianne, Rianne!" Erik flapped his arms reaching out for her. Marianne smiled and held out her arms to accept him from Bastien. "Can we draw?"

"Well, of course, silly boy." Marianne laughed, grabbing her sketchbook. "Come, sit by me."

" _SEBASTIEN_!"

"Coming, Grandpere," Bastien grumbled. Éponine saw Marianne cover her mouth to hide her smirk.

"You really like seeing him suffer like this, don't you?" Éponine asked, sitting alongside her.

"If you had to put up with that man like I do every year, you'd understand the need to have his attention turned to someone else. It's always 'Sit up straight, Marianne,' 'Marianne, stop acting like such a fool,' or 'Marianne, for God's sake, act like a lady, or no one's ever going to want to marry you.' As if I want that!" Marianne spit onto one of the chestnuts, and it sizzled in the heat. "Remind me to give that one to him."

"I will." Éponine passed a charcoal stick to Erik, who started gleefully scribbling on a blank page next to a sketch of a dark young man with hooded eyes. "Who's the boy in the picture?"

"No one," Marianne said stiffly, fidgeting with a strand of her dark hair and returning her attention to the toddler between them. Erik had just finished drawing a girl's face. "That looks very pretty, Erik. Who is that?"

"Sette." Erik answered, smiling up at her.

"Who?"

"Cosette, she's a friend of mine. He met her today, and he's enchanted with her. I don't blame him, she's very sweet." Éponine shrugged, still wondering what the drawing meant.

"He wants his chestnuts." Bastien called from the other room. Éponine grinned and grabbed the one Marianne had spit on, along with a few others.

"Take these ones to him. I'm going to take Erik up to bed."

"Don't wanna sleep," Erik mumbled, clearly trying to hold back a yawn.

"You need to sleep, or Father Christmas isn't going to bring you anything tomorrow." She and Bastien had given him an explanation of Father Christmas a few weeks past. Erik immediately put down the charcoal and held out his arms to let Éponine pick him up and carry him to bed.

* * *

**_December 25, 1831_ **

"Merry Christmas!" Bastien awoke to find Éponine and Erik both sitting next to his bed, eager grins on their faces.

"What time is it?" he muttered groggily. Christmas was usually the one day of the year that he allowed for sleeping in.

"Eight o' clock!" Éponine answered cheerfully. "Now, come on, get up, we're doing presents while your grandfather's asleep!"

"One would think this is your first Christmas…"

"Well, it is for Erik. It's the first real one for me in a while, now get up!" Éponine started tugging at his arm. "Erik, be a lamb and get his other arm, will you?"

"No, no, I'll get up! Don't start pulling me into pieces," Bastien muttered swinging his legs over the side of the bed that his fiancée and ward weren't on. "Just give me a moment and go into the front room." They nodded and hurried out, giggling to each other. He grabbed his robe and slippers and shuffled after them. Marianne was already sitting in front of the fire, sipping a cup of tea. "Good morning."

"Morning," she replied, holding out a red box. "And Merry Christmas."

"I told you I didn't want anything."

"Oh, come on, Bastien, get into the spirit of it." Marianne whined. "This cost me half of my earnings from selling sketches!"

"Wasted."

"Just take it!" His sister's tone was so forceful that Bastien accepted the parcel and meticulously removed the paper. There was no need to waste it, after all. As he pulled the last of the paper away, The Complete Orations of Cicero stared up at him in gleaming gold. The subtitle told him they were in the original Latin. "Well?"

"It's wonderful, Marianne, thank you. I'm glad you remembered my fondness for Cicero." Marianne beamed brightly and handed him another package. "Éponine, I told you—"

"And I didn't listen." Éponine interrupted smugly. "Go on, open it!"

"I am!" In the same careful manner as Marianne's gift, he unwrapped the second package, to reveal a collection of tricolor rosettes, armbands, and sashes. " _Mon Dieu_ … Éponine, did you… Did you make all of these?"

"I had a friend help me with the first few, but the rest are mine, yes," she nodded. "Do you like them?"

"They're exactly what we needed." Without hesitating, he kissed her on the cheek, forgetting Marianne for a moment. "Thank you. For everything. But… I didn't get you anything. Either of you."

"You've given us enough." Marianne promised, kissing his cheek. "Honestly, big brother, we just wanted to see you enjoying the season!"


	10. A Shift In Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which plans are accelerated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Before I go any further, I think some clarifications need to be made. I'm operating on the timeline of the Susan Kay novel, making Erik's birthday some time in the spring of 1831, so he's nine months old now at most. Now, I am fully aware that most children are not half as functional as he is at this age. They barely know how to crawl, and they most certainly cannot talk, much less form coherent sentences, as Erik does. However, I do believe Erik is that precocious, especially because it adds to his mother thinking him a freak. His mind is that of a genius, always developing, always learning, but he is still grotesque to behold. But, with Éponine and Enjolras, who encourage him, his mind races even faster than in the canon for Kay. Call it an excuse, call it whatever you like, but that's how I'm running things.

**_December 26, 1831_ **

Enjolras sat in front of his grandfather, his heart beating so rapidly, he was surprised no one else could hear it. No doubt Éponine, Erik, and Marianne were all listening at the door. "Sebastien, are you paying attention to me?"

"I'm sorry, Grandpere," he muttered, straightening his spine. "You were saying?"

"That you've surprised me during this visit. You've been a very courteous host, more so than I expected." Enjolras remained silent. "The housekeeper woman. She's good for you."

"Sir?"

"Don't think I'm naïve, boy, I know what I saw. And while I'd have preferred someone closer to our social station, I believe she's more than a match for you. She keeps you in line."

"Really? You honestly approve of me seeing Éponine?"

"Are you deaf, boy? Isn't that what I just said?" his grandfather's voice was gruff, but Enjolras could see small crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. "Now, there's the matter of your future."

"My future." Enjolras repeated hesitantly. "By that, I presume you mean a career in politics?"

"It would be gratifying if you were able to attain some station within the government, yes."

"Grandpere, I assure you, I am fully contemplating leadership."

"With these foolish boys I hear on the street shouting about a Republic?"

"Many of them are my friends, Grandpere. And our intentions are only the best. We want a world that can provide a future for everyone, not just the wealthy."

"You'll get yourselves killed, the lot of you."

"If we do, we will be martyrs to our cause, the cause of freedom."

"You're mad, all of you."

"We've all gone into this knowing the risks. Éponine has agreed to support me in this."

"You're a damn fool, just like your father."

"I find that to be a compliment," Enjolras retorted. "You can't stop me, Grandpere."

"I won't have this treasonous talk in my home!"

"But it's mine!" Enjolras shouted back, then sucked in his breath and lowered his voice to a calmer level. "I just sent in the last payment. No more of this family honor nonsense, the world is changing, and I am not about to sit back and watch while it moves on without me. I won't let myself become like you."

"You're a damn fool," Grandpere repeated.

"I should prefer to die a fool fighting for Patria than a wise man sitting safe in my home. Now, I have to go give Marianne a belated Christmas present before you go. Excuse me." Without waiting for his grandfather's permission, he rose and opened the door.

Sure enough, as he did so, all three of the people he actually enjoyed having in his family tumbled backwards onto the floor. "Honestly, why am I not surprised?"

"I cannot believe you said that to Grandpere!" Marianne declared giddily. "I've been waiting to hear that all my life! Does this mean I can live with you now? Can I, please?"

"We barely fit in this apartment, Marianne, we don't have space to keep you permanently, and besides, I am not leaving you here. Any more flirting with Courfeyrac, and we'll be announcing your engagement by New Year's Eve."

"I like Theo!"

"And now you're calling him by his first name. We're doomed." Enjolras reached into his pocket and pulled out a small jewelry box. "Merry belated Christmas, little sister, before I change my mind."

"Oh, you," Marianne accepted the box in her left hand and ruffled his blond hair with her right, before kissing him on the cheek, and grabbing her coat. "I'll open it and then write to you once we're on the road. I love you." She paused for a moment to open the box, pulling out the necklace he'd purchased, a silver pendant with the image of Minerva engraved on it. "And thank you, it suits me."

"I love you, too," he replied as Grandpere stormed past him. "Stay healthy."

"Bah," the old man scowled, grabbing Marianne by the wrist and tugging her out the door. Éponine picked up Erik and put him on her hip, following them out the door.

"Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii ianne!" Erik squealed, waving his hands wildly.

"Goodbye, Erik! I'll send you more drawings, all right?"

"Yes!" he giggled. "Au'voir!"

"Au revoir," Enjolras corrected, joining them in the doorway. "We'll have you talking properly by next year, I think, Erik. Goodbye, Marianne. Write to us."

"Oh, I will."

" _MARIANNE_!"

"I'm coming!" Marianne yelled, hurrying to kiss Bastien and Erik before running outside. The little family gathered by the window to wave goodbye. Marianne waved back at them from the carriage window as they drove away, alternating between smiling widely and making faces as she jabbed a finger at the other side, where Grandpere was sitting. All three of them laughed until Erik sneezed, reminding them of the cold December weather. They ducked back inside and Enjolras pulled the window shut.

"Well, that makes things… a little more complicated."

"You've sunk us. There's no way we can last very long without your grandfather's—"

"Marry me." Enjolras interrupted.

"What?!" shrieked Éponine, nearly dropping Erik on the floor. The little boy grabbed onto her arm tightly, reminding her that she was carrying him. "S-sorry, Erik… Bastien, are you… you better not be joking."

"When have I ever been one to joke?" He asked.

"But…  _now_?"

"Why not?" he asked

I… I don't have a proper dress, and we'd need witnesses, and…" she trailed off. "There's no way we could. Not tonight. It's just not possible. Why are you suddenly rushing into this?"

"Well, for one thing, we do need another means of income. And I did tell you about my parents' inheritance, didn't I?"

"Then this is…?"

"A way for our family to survive."

"Then you don't love me." It wasn't a question.

"Éponine—"

"It's fine if you don't," she interrupted. "I don't love you like that either."

"Marius?" he asked. She looked down guiltily at her feet. "I've known ever since you tried to throw yourself in the river. You love him. But you care for me, and I care for you. I am asking you to marry me because I want you in my life, not as a lover, necessarily, but as what you are now. As a friend. As someone to talk to. As family."

"Say yes!" Erik chirped from her arms. "Please please please!"

"At least give me time to get a dress! And witnesses. We need those for it to be legal!"

"I'll ask a few of Les Amis, the ones I can trust most. Combeferre, and Joly, maybe. Not Courfeyrac, Grantaire or Marius, though."

"I didn't think Marius was one of Les Amis."

"He's not, not officially. All the same, we're not inviting him."

"New Year's Eve," she suggested. "I have a friend, she goes to a small chapel every week. We could do it there, Combeferre, her, us, and a priest. Simple. Just friends."

Enjolras leaned in and kissed her to seal the deal. "Agreed."


	11. Final Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Chief shares his secret with the Guide.

_**December 27, 1831** _

"That's all for tonight. I'll see you tomorrow." Enjolras started clearing the table of the maps and books. "Combeferre, can you stay a moment?"

"Of course." Combeferre shouldered his bag, and approached him. "What is it?"

"Can I ask you to meet me at Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre on New Year's Eve?"

"Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre?" Combeferre repeated. "I wasn't aware you were religious."

"This is a… special occasion." Enjolras scanned the cafe to make certain everyone was gone. Even Grantaire seemed to have gone home. "I'm getting married. To Éponine Thénardier. And I want you there as witness. You're the only one I trust."

"Wait. You're… marrying… Éponine… Thénardier." Combeferre repeated incredulously. "Why?"

"Why does anyone get married? Why are you marrying Claire Predeux?"

"That's different. Claire and I knew each other a long time before I proposed to her." Combeferre protested.

"Luc, come on. I've a right to—"

"What appeal does she have for you?"

"It doesn't matter what appeal she has to me, that's not what I'm asking you. I am asking you to witness."

"I'll witness when you tell me why you're marrying her." The philosopher crossed his arms and stared down his nose at the patriot. "Five reasons. Now."

"This is ridiculous."

"Five reasons."

"When you announced you were marrying Claire, I didn't question your motives, especially since I thought you were interested in Marianne."

"Again, that's different. In concept, your sister is very much an ideal in women, but Claire and I complement each other well, and care for one another besides."

"Who's to say Éponine and I don't do the same?"

"Enjolras, just give me the five reasons already."

"Fine! One, she's intelligent. She might not have the education we did, but she's clever. Two, she's not afraid to confront me when she thinks I'm wrong."

"Keep going."

"Three, she's honest."

"Interesting. You've got two more."

"Four, she gives me new perspective. I think about things differently, thanks to her. More about the future."

"It sounds as if she's taking my role."

"No one is replacing you, 'Ferre. And five, I need her."

"Elaborate on that."

"I answered the question!"

"Why do you need her?"

"That's my business."

"Enjolras!"

"Leave it at that. Please."

"I'm just trying to make sure you know what you're doing."

"I've always known." Enjolras replied. "So, you'll come?"

"May I bring Claire?"

"The point of this is that as few people as possible know about this. But I suppose there's no harm."

"Well, then I'll see you on New Year's. What time?"

"Seven o'clock."

"You've a deal."

* * *

Éponine rattled the gates of Number 55, Rue Plumet, tapping a foot impatiently. "Cosette! Cosette, come on, I need to talk to you!" After a moment, she bent down, picked up a rock and tossed it through the bars. "Cosette!" Sure enough, the petite titian-haired girl emerged from the garden. "There you are!"

"What is it? Why did you come so late?"

"I had a full day with Erik. Listen, I need to ask something of you."

"What is it?"

"Bastien and I set a date for the wedding."

"Really?" Cosette squealed in delight. "Oh, that's wonderful! When? June?"

"No. New Year's Eve."

"As in.. Four days from now? Do you even have a dress?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Say no more, I'll take care of it." Cosette grinned. "Don't worry, it'll be beautiful, you'll see."

"Then you're coming?"

"Of course I am! I'll just tell Papa I'm visiting the convent. What time?"

"Seven o' clock. It'll be a very quick ceremony."

"Quick or no, it's still your wedding day! You should look your best." Cosette reached through the bars and pinched Éponine's cheek, giggling. Éponine swatted her hand away, rolling her eyes. "Oh, this is wonderful! I'll see you on New Year's! No, wait! Can I come over to see you tomorrow, so we can get your measurements taken at my dress maker?"

"Er... I guess..."

"Wonderful! Tomorrow, then!"


	12. Everlasting Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a plan comes to fruition

_**December 31, 1831** _

Éponine stood in the back room of Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre, staring at herself in the small mirror Cosette had brought. "This is not me," she whispered numbly. "It's not me."

The girl staring back at her in the mirror certainly didn't look like the Éponine Thénardier most people imagined when that name was mentioned. This girl was clean, for one thing, and her dark hair was free of tangles and swept into a shiny knot at the back of her head. A borrowed pearl necklace from Cosette decorated her collarbones, stopping just above the lace-trimmed neckline of the periwinkle dress. The dress was belted at her waist, and stopped just above her white slippers (another donation from Cosette). The girl in the mirror was too pretty, too sophisticated, too… everything. It couldn't be her. "It can't be me," she said again.

"Of course it can." Claire, the girl that Combeferre was apparently engaged to, declared in her matter of fact tone. Éponine and Cosette both gave the brunette a look of bemusement. Claire shrugged and went back to bouncing Erik on her knee. "Your son is rather wild, you know."

"You've never seen him jumping on a bed," Éponine retorted as Cosette bent down to examine the hem of her ice blue dress. "For God's sake, Cosette, you're not going to find any tears have appeared in the last five minutes."

"A woman's wedding day is the most important of her life," Cosette said primly. "I'm simply trying to make sure you look your best."

"Mama looks pretty!" Erik pronounced happily. Cosette pinched his unmasked cheek and he shrieked. "Nooooo!"

"How do you get him to stop making noise?" Claire asked, peering at Erik as though he were some kind of perplexing toy. "I feel useless, I don't know how to quiet him."

"Claire, children are able to be quieted, but he's not doing any harm." Cosette plucked Erik off the older girl's lap. "Aren't you and Combeferre planning on a family?"

"Revolution and equality first," Claire replied firmly. "We agreed to that from the beginning. I'm in no rush to become a mother."

"Well, I'd love to be one," Cosette said, bouncing Erik happily. "If Papa would ever let me out of the house long enough to fall in love with someone."

"Then maybe I should stop taking up all your free time so you can find this someone," Éponine joked, making Cosette blush. A rap sounded at the door. "And, I'm guessing that's 'Ferre."

"Mmm. We'll be right out." Claire called. Cosette bent down to be on eye level with Erik.

"Do you remember your job?" she asked him. He nodded eagerly. "Tell me what it is."

"Walk Mama down!"

"That's right." Cosette pinched his cheek again. "You bring her along in a minute, understand?" He nodded again. "Good boy. We're going now." With that, Cosette and Claire slipped out the door. Éponine sank into the stool where Claire had been sitting. She might have wrinkled the dress, but that would be Cosette's problem.

"Erik, come here." She opened her arms to let the little boy climb onto her lap. "Do you know what nervous is?" He shook his head. "It means I'm scared. And if I get scared, you have to help me. Make me keep walking, no matter what. Understand?" He nodded. "Good boy. Let's go now." She picked him up and placed him on the ground before smoothing off her dress.

* * *

At the other end of the church, Enjolras stood waiting with the others. The wooden doors at the entrance creaked open, and Erik appeared, tugging Éponine by the hand. "Oh, my God…" Enjolras breathed. Éponine looked stunning, even with her face pale and her eyes fearful. To his left, he caught a glimpse of Cosette smiling smugly, clearly proud of her work. By this point, Erik had completed the journey and reached up to press Éponine's hand into that of Enjolras, then ran to Cosette, who picked him up and put him on her hip.

"Are all those invited present?" the priest asked.

"Yes, and we'd prefer that this go as quickly as possible," Enjolras said. "If you don't mind, Father."

"It's perfectly all right with me, I've a midnight mass in a few hours." The priest started to open his Bible, but Enjolras placed his hand on top of the leather book. "Monsieur?"

"We've our own," he explained, raising Éponine's hand and looking her in the eye. "I, Sebastien Enjolras, take you, Éponine Thénardier as my wife, as my companion, and my friend, to share both the sorrows and joys of my life. I promise to hide nothing from you, to treat you as my equal in all things, and to trust you wholly. All that is yours, I take as mine, and all that is mine, I give to you. I ask that you accept this ring as my promise." He held up the gold band with the onyx stone that had been in his pocket. It wasn't much, even less than the one he'd gotten for their engagement, but he hadn't dared to write home for the family ring.

Éponine bit her lip and furrowed her brow, probably trying to remember what she'd been planning to say. After a moment, she spoke. "I, Éponine Thénardier, take you, Sebastien Enjolras as my husband, and as my friend. I promise to share in your burdens, to ease your pains, to support you in all that you do. I promise to be your ally in all your fights, your friend in your loneliness, and your shelter in storms. All that is yours, I take as mine, and all that is mine, I give to you. I ask that you accept this ring as my promise." She held up a rather battered looking gold band.

"I accept your promise," he whispered, raising the third finger of his left hand so she could slide the ring on.

"And I accept yours," she whispered back. He let a smile, something that had become more frequent since Éponine and Erik had entered his life, appear on his face and slipped the second ring onto her hand.

"Your signatures." The priest held out a pen, along with the certificate Combeferre had procured, and Enjolras accepted them, signing his name in the allotted space. He passed it to Éponine, who managed to keep her hand steady as she formed her name in shaky penmanship. One by one, more signature joined theirs, those of Lucien Combeferre, Claire Predeux, and Euphrasie Fauchelevant. "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Enjolras hesitated a moment, then cupped Éponine's face in his hands, brought it to his, and kissed her. She was tentative for an instant, then responded easily, deepening the kiss and wrapping her arms around him, twisting her fingers into his blond hair. Erik clapped happily and Cosette giggled as Combeferre gave Claire a kiss on the cheek. As Éponine pulled away, Enjolras gave her a very cheeky smile, not unlike the one he'd had after their first kiss. "Smart mouth," she murmured. "Let's go home."

"I couldn't agree more, Madame Enjolras." The use of Éponine's new name made her laugh a little. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing!" she protested. "Listen, I was thinking we could all go back to the flat and watch the New Year's festivities from there." She turned to the others, accepting Erik from Cosette. "You're welcome to join us."

"I should get back home," Cosette said sadly, retrieving her wrap from one of the pews. "Papa doesn't like me out late, and he thinks I'm at prayer. I daren't linger, I'm sorry. But it was lovely. Thank you for letting me share this with you. And it was lovely to meet you, Enjolras. Good luck to both of you. And do come visit me again!" she called, hurrying out the doors.

"We'd join you," Combeferre said, "but Claire wanted to spend the rest of the evening with her parents." Claire shrugged apologetically.

"Of course we understand!" Éponine smiled warmly. "Go on, it's fine. And happy new year."

"And to you." Combeferre replied, reaching over to grip Enjolras' arm. As they leaned in for a brief embrace, he whispered to his friend, "I hope it turns out well."

"As do I," Enjolras murmured back. They separated, and the newly made Enjolras family headed back towards number 147 Rue Liberté. Éponine, despite having a new winter coat, shivered, and clutched Erik close to her. Enjolras wrapped his arm around his wife. It was then that the reality hit him. Things had truly changed now. Éponine and Erik had legally become his responsibility, two more people who were depending on him for a better life. He knew it should have scared him, but for some reason, it felt… comforting. As if his life now had something constant, something permanent.


	13. Tension and Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the newlyweds bare their souls... among other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes beyond the usual rating of the story. If you don't know what happens when a man and a woman love each other very much, you may want to go look that up, and then come back and read this.

**_January 14, 1832_ **

Two weeks had passed since her wedding, and yet, Éponine felt as though nothing had changed from before. When she'd played at house as a child, she'd imagined something more… loving. Not that Enjolras hadn't been kind and attentive, but he was… Enjolras. He had been treating her very much the way he had treated Marianne: no more flirting, or playful kisses, just witty conversations and the occasional hug.

"What do you think, Erik?" she asked, bouncing the little boy on her knee as they watched Enjolras make his way down the street. "Is Papa getting bored of Mama?" Erik blew his tin whistle. "Oh, what am I thinking? Youʻre still a baby, you don't understand what's going on around you."

"Sing?" Erik asked, grinning at her naïvely. "Please, Mama?"

"Oh…" Éponine looked at his soft gold-brown eyes, and the eagerness of his little face, and sighed. "Fine. What is it you want me to sing?" He shrugged. "Erik… all right, then I'll choose." She sucked in her lips, then thought of something. "Suddenly I see, suddenly it starts: when two anxious hearts beat as one. Yesterday, I was alone. Today, you walk beside me. Something still unclear, something not yet here has begun. Suddenly, the world seems a different place… Somehow full of grace and delight. How was I to know that so much love was held inside me? Something fresh and young, something still unsung fills the night…" Erik snuggled into her, yawning lazily. "How was I to know at last that happiness can come so fast? Trusting me the way you do I'm so afraid of failing you…" she faltered for a moment. "Nevermore alone, nevermore apart, you have warmed my heart like the sun. You have brought the gift of life, and love so long denied me. Suddenly, I see what I could not see… Something suddenly has begun." As the last note left her lips, Erik let out a tiny snore. "You little darling, you…" she murmured, lying him down on the sofa and pulling one of the spare blankets over him. Leaving him to his dreams, she sat down at the desk and began sorting through Enjolras's mountain of papers. His handwriting was close to indecipherable, and she could only make out a few phrases, namely ones like  _Patria_  and  _Revolution_ , where he'd pressed harder with his pen and written the words almost reverently.

 _Patria._ Éponine felt a little sliver of something cold enter her heart. That was the one name that never ceased to bring a smile to the face of the man who was now her husband. It made her want to scream and throw a tantrum, the way a little girl would.  _Patria_. For one brief instant, she hated that word. Then, a knock came at the door, jolting her back into reality. She placed down the papers and hurried to get the door. The face she saw when she opened it was one she had not been expecting, nor one she was particularly thrilled to see. "Is there a problem?" she asked.

Inspector Vincent Javert gave her a small bow. "Are you Mme. Madeleine?"

"Mme. Enjolras now," she corrected politely. "Is there a problem, Inspector?"

"I'm here on an investigation, Madame, due to information sent from one Sebastien Enjolras III, of Rennes."

"Oh, how is Grand-père?" Éponine asked sweetly. "I hope he wasn't taking that little spat he and Bastien had seriously! My husband loves to ruffle his grandfather's feathers, Inspector, he didn't mean any of it!"

"Then your husband is not planning an illegal rebellion?"

"Of course not!" Éponine said indignantly.

"All the same, Madame, may I come in?"

"No!" she said immediately.

"Why not?"

"My son's asleep in there, Inspector, I don't want you to wake him." Javert's face softened a little at her excuse.

"Of course, Madame. My apologies for the inconvenience. Where might I be able to find your husband?"

"I don't know," she lied, keeping her eyes downcast. "He's out with his friends, I don't know where. I'm sorry, Inspector."

"Thank you for your help." Javert bowed again, and she closed the door behind him. She stood for a moment, her back pressed against the door, then hurried to the desk and scribbled a note on a spare sheet of paper.

_Bastien,_

_Inspector Javert came to the flat asking after you. Your grandfather's informed the police of your fight at Christmas. I'm taking Erik to one of my family's empty residences for a few days — it's a room on the third floor in the building two doors over from the Musain on the left. It's safest there. Hide everything related to the revolution in a place that won't be found if anyone comes to search again, then come find me. We need to do something._

_~Éponine_

With that done, she hurried to the attic room and stripped off her red dress, rummaging around for her ragged clothes, finally locating them beneath a patterned wool shawl. She almost didn't fit into them now, all the months of good food and enough sleep had made her plumper and healthier, but she managed to get them on just the same. There was something about them that made her hate them even more than she had before. Maybe it was the fact that she now knew what it was like to wear clothes that fit her, warm, well made clothes. Maybe it was that the rags just reminded her too much of another life she'd been trying very hard to forget. Whatever the reason, she hated them. But there was something more important to worry about than her own comfort: Erik's safety. And if Enjolras was under suspicion, then Number 147 Rue Liberté was no longer safe. Not for her, or for Erik. She found his 'exploring' clothes, the ripped clothes covered in soot stains and God knew what else from all the little boy's adventures.

"Erik!" She climbed down the ladder, clothes in hand. "Erik, wake up!" The little boy rolled over, batting a lazy eye. "Put these on." She threw the clothes at him on her way into the kitchen. "Now." She was stuffing a last bit of bread into her shawl when Erik drowsily toddled in, the clothes hanging haphazardly on his skinny body. "Go get me some ashes from the fireplace."

"Ohuh?"

"FIREPLACE." she said loudly. "ASHES. NOW." Erik toddled back into the parlor, grumbling, and Éponine followed him, her bundle of food in hand. He scooped up a few handfuls of ash and held them out to her. "Good boy." She took a pinch and smeared the soot over his cheeks. "Do mine now." He shoved the full load of remaining ash into her face, making her cough. Erik giggled at her, and she smacked his arm lightly. "That was not funny. Now, come on, we're leaving."

"Why?"

"Because it's not safe here anymore."

"What about Papa?"

"He'll meet us there." She handed him the bundle of food. "Hold that and don't make a sound." Erik nodded silently, allowing her to scoop him up in her arms. She carried him out of the flat, locked the door and began to creep down the stairs as noiselessly as possible. They made it through the door and out into the streets. Weak rays of sunlight filtered through a grey wall of clouds and the wind was icy and sharp. Erik whimpered and clung to Éponine's tattered skirt, burying his face in the ripped fabric. "I'm sorry, Erik, we need to do this."

"Why?" he asked again. "I wanna go home!"

"We are going home. Just not to the one we usually do." She picked him up and started running through the streets, sneaking through side alleys and back ways until they reached the grubby little building near the Musain. Éponine climbed the stairs, never loosening her grip on Erik until they were safely in her little hideaway.

"This isn't nice," Erik said, looking around at the faded walls, the worn floors and the cracks that ran throughout the entire room.

"I know it's not Papa's apartment, but we didn't have much of a choice," she retorted, setting him down on the mattress. "I'm sorry, Erik. This is to keep us safe."

"Safe from what?"

"People who would hurt us."

"Like who?"

"Bad people," she said vaguely. He was still too young to understand what was going on. "I'm sorry for doing this, but I just wanted us to be safe." Erik curled himself into a ball, shivering. Éponine bent down and wrapped her arms around him, trying to keep him warm. They sat there for hours until they heard someone climbing the stairs.

"Éponine? Erik? Are you up here? It's me."

"Papa! Papa!" Erik wriggled out of Éponine's grip and ran to meet Enjolras in the hall.

"You're freezing!" Enjolras declared. "Éponine, what were you thinking?" He came into the room, holding Erik in his arms and her note pinched between his fingers. "I think you overreacted."

"Javert knows who I am… who I was. If he'd recognized me, I could've been arrested!"

"But you weren't. There was no reason to move out."

"I was trying to be careful."

"How were you expecting me to explain the sudden disappearance of my wife and son?"

"Oh, am I your wife now?" she asked angrily.

"Éponine, what is that supposed to mean? Of course you're my wife, you have been for two weeks now!"

"You don't treat me like it!"

"I've got a revolution I'm trying to plan, you know that!"

"How is that at all relevant? You made a promise to me, but the minute it was done, you started ignoring me!" she yelled. "I'm not asking for you to put me up on a pedestal, but I just want a little acknowledgment from you that I'm there. That you care about me."

"I do care!"

"Then show it!" she snapped, turning away.

"I will, I promise! Éponine…" He reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Come home, and I'll be better, I promise. We'll spend an hour talking every day, and not just about what I want. You have full permission to slap me if I start waxing poetic, to take control of the conversation, anything you want."

"Promise?" she asked, not turning to face him. He didn't answer, but walked around so that they were eye to eye, and kissed her on the mouth. "That's not good enough."

"Then tell me what you want."

"I'll go home with you and Erik and tell you once he's in bed."

* * *

Enjolras sat on his bed in his shirtsleeves and trousers, the rest of his clothes strewn carelessly across the floor. A light tapping on the door told him Éponine had finally gotten Erik to sleep. He looked up to see her standing in the doorway, a shawl wrapped over her nightgown.

"Aren't you going to change for bed?" she asked.

"I sleep like this," he answered, shrugging at her and tapping the empty space next to him. "I change maybe twice a week. When I bathe. Come on, sit by me. I'm not going to bite." She stepped around the scattered clothes and sank down beside him. "Now, what was it you wanted instead of a promise?"

"Proof," she replied. "Proof that I'm more to you than just the way to get your inheritance. That you care."

"And do you have any way in particular you wanted me to demonstrate that?"

Her cheeks flushed carmine. "No." Some gut instinct told him she was lying, but he let it slide.

"Well, I've an idea of what we could do tonight. Tonight, we're going to know each other." She squeaked and went even redder. "Oh, for the love of God, not like that. I meant as people. Damn… this really is a topic full of double entendres, isn't it?" She nodded. "What I'm trying to say is that, despite being married, we don't know very much about each other."

"I know you!" she retorted indignantly.

"Really? What's my favorite color?"

"Uhhhh… Uhhhh…" She wrinkled her face and chewed her lip. "Red?"

"No." He laughed gently. "It's blue. The color the sky is when the sun's just risen. I like how infinite it seems, how full of possibilities and new life. It's hope."

"Hmph." Éponine muttered. "I don't get it. What's the point of me knowing your favorite color?"

"It's more about knowing me, as a person. I thought it'd work something like this: I ask you a question, you answer truthfully, then the roles reverse. That's how we'd learn more about each other."

"Well… All right," she sighed, pulling her feet up onto the bed. "How do we start?"

"You ask me."

"No, you go first."

"Very well, if you insist. You know my favorite color now, so what's yours?"

"White. I like snow. I'm not deep about it like you are. My turn."

"Ask away."

"What's your favorite book?"

"The Collected Works of Robespierre." Éponine snorted at his answer. "I stand by my tastes. What's yours?"

"Cendrillon. What sweets do you like?"

"Macarons. Where did you grow up?"

"Montfermeil. Was I your first kiss?"

"Yes. Was I yours?"

"No. That was Montparnasse."

"Did you love him?"

"No fair, it's my turn to ask a question! Now, tell me, have you ever," she posed provocatively, "been with a woman?'"

"No. Are you likewise as innocent?"

"Of course I am! Why have you never had a girl? It's not as if you couldn't get one. I know a lot of girls would jump at the chance to be with someone like you."

"This would be a lengthier answer, are you sure you want to hear it."

"Answer, please."

"Fine. I grew up with Marianne as my primary childhood companion. And I saw what it was like for her, particularly how people treated her after she began… developing. I never saw the decency of it. Maybe that's part of why I grew to be so dedicated to my cause. When I picture the Republic in my mind, I see a world where everyone is judged equally, where a little girl on the streets is just as important as a fat old man in a warm bed. I never really looked at any women because I didn't want to judge them on what everyone else does. I wanted to fall in love with someone who would challenge me, not someone who would comply with me because of our alleged positions. I want someone willing to break rules for me. To be a fighter. Someone who can keep up. So, tell me, Éponine, can you keep up?"

"What do you think?" she asked, rolling on top of him.

"Wait… what are you doing?"

"You want me to break the rules, right?"

"Éponine, I don't under—" She pulled him up by his collar and kissed him deeply, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. "Mmmph!" he pulled away. "What… what're you trying to do? This isn't something you can go back from, Éponine."

"But I don't want to go back," Éponine whispered. "I want to stay here, I want to be with you. I need you."

"Éponine… I don't know what I'm meant to do."

"Simple enough, really, the pointy part goes into me. I saw Father Christmas doing it once when I was a child."

"Do I want to know the details?"

"I can show you. If you want."

"I think I can figure it out. But you're certain? You want me to be your first? Not Marius?"

"I'm trying to let go of Marius as best I can. To be honest, I hadn't really thought about him till now… Oh!" she gasped as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for another kiss.

"Forget I asked. You really want this?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Please, Bastien. Be my first."

"As you wish." As he kissed her again, he felt a bizarre sensation surging through him. Éponine squeaked. "What is it?"

"I think you're excited for this as much as I am."

**_January 15, 1832_ **

Enjolras awoke to find himself sprawled across his bed, Éponine nestled into his bare chest. "Éponine," he whispered gently. "Éponine, wake up."

"Morning," she mumbled, rolling off him. "Did you like that?"

"Well… yes," he admitted sheepishly. "But we can't do that again."

"Why not?" She pouted.

"Because…" he reached out to touch her cheek and trailed his hand down to her stomach. "We're still planning a war, remember? I don't want to risk leaving you and Erik and… anyone else behind." Éponine blushed. "I'm serious, childbirth is dangerous."

"I know it is. But I'm not scared."

"I know… I am," he admitted. "But don't you dare tell anyone I said that."

"I won't. And I also won't tell anyone what we did last night. Are you sure we can't—"

"We're not taking chances." He brushed a strand of her dark hair off her face. "But I did like it." She giggled a little and kissed him on the nose. "What day is it?"

"Sunday."

"Oh. Then we can sleep in."

"It's already noon, I can tell from the shadows." She pointed at the window, then turned pale. "Oh, God, Erik's probably having a panic attack in the attic."

"Damn… Where are our clothes?"

She laughed and slid out of bed. "I've still got my nightdress on. You can get dressed, I'll get him."

"You're a godsend."

"I know."


	14. A River Against A Dam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the family separates, and the hands of time must be turned back

**_April 29, 1832_ **

Enjolras opened the door of the flat to the scent of almond oil and Éponine shrieking, "ERIK, PUT THOSE BACK!"

"What's going on?" he asked, pulling off his jacket and tossing it on the desk. "And what smells so good?"

"I'M IN THE KITCHEN, YOU'LL HAVE TO COME IN HERE IF YOU WANT TO— NO! NO, BAD, ERIK, VERY BAD!" Éponine screamed. Erik laughed, running out of the kitchen, his fists clutching a collection of crushed macarons. Enjolras bent down and caught the toddler by his waist, picking him up and carrying him back inside. Éponine stood in the center of the room, her dress, hands and face covered with flour and a very tart expression on her face. "Thank you for catching him."

"You're welcome." Enjolras plucked one of the macarons out of Erik's hand and examined it. "How long have you been making these?"

"I don't know, two hours at least." She wiped her hands on a towel and opened her hands to accept the rest of the macarons and put them back on the platter where a few non-damaged pastries were sitting. "I burned a few batches. They were supposed to be a surprise."

"A surprise for what?"

Éponine looked at him in disbelief. "Bastien, it's your birthday today. You're twenty-six. You told me today was your birthday weeks ago." He stared at her, chewing his lip. "Are you going to say anything? Did you not want to—"

"Éponine, you're very sweet to have done this, but I'm afraid things are about to change." Éponine's face immediately hardened at his words.

"Is it Lamarque?" she asked, setting the towel down.

"We found out today he's worse. Much worse. It's a matter of waiting now."

"I've heard things," she murmured, coming over to take Erik from him. "When I go shopping. There's so much anger, and it keeps getting worse."

"Which makes it the best time to strike."

"Are you sure this is the best idea? I feel like we could be safer here—"

"Javert came here once, Éponine, we can't risk it. We have to move the two of you tonight."

"After macarons," she insisted. He stared at her skeptically. "I spent hours making these, and we are going to celebrate your birthday, whether you like it or not." He let his face split into a grin.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world. You want to give me back Erik and go clean yourself up?"

"No, I think I'll stay like this." She grabbed the platter and held it up in front of him, grinning. "Happy birthday!" Erik whistled and clapped his hands as Enjolras kissed his wife, grabbed one of the macarons and stuffed it in her mouth.

"Me too! Me too!" Erik squealed, opening his mouth and pointing at it gleefully. Enjolras grabbed another pastry and dangled it in front of him, trying to make the little boy open his mouth even wider before taking a bite out of it himself. "Nooooooo!" Erik started pummeling him with his fists.

"Bastien!" Éponine scolded. "How could you!"

"It's my birthday, isn't it?"

"Oh, you are terrible." She shook her head and gave Erik one of the pastries that he'd turned into a cast of his fist. "He's… I don't even know how old he is… a year, maybe. But he's still a baby."

"Am not!" protested Erik, spewing crumbs out of his mouth. Éponine and Enjolras both chuckled at the mess he made. "I'm not a baby!"

"Hmmm." Enjolras pushed back his hair with his free hand, then set Erik on the floor. "Well, go get your exploring clothes. You and your mother are going on an adventure."

"To the cold house?"

"It won't be cold," promised Éponine. "It's almost May now, it'll be fine."

"I don't want to go," Erik declared. "I like it here."

"Erik, it's only for a little while," Enjolras promised, bending down to eye level with the little boy. "You two will come back. I just need to finish a few jobs, and I want to make sure that you aren't in any danger. Do you understand?" Erik nodded. "Go get ready." The little boy toddled to the chest where they'd been keeping the 'adventure clothes,' leaving Enjolras and Éponine alone.

"You'll be safe, right?" She reached up to touch his cheek. He caught it and held it against his face. Despite the flour coating them, he could still feel the warmth of her pulse.

"I can't make promises, Éponine. We're on the cusp of a war."

"I know, but…" she sighed. "Just try to be careful. I might be able to cope, but I'm not sure about Erik. He's so young, Bastien. I'm—"

"I know," he interrupted. "But it's the only plan we've got. You'd better go change, too."

She nodded. "Then let go of my hand." They both laughed as he relaxed his grip and she slipped her hand out of his. She left the room, and Enjolras sank into one of the chairs, poking at the remaining macarons idly. He wasn't sure how long he'd sat there, but Éponine's voice jolted him out of it. "We're ready."

"Right…" he pushed himself up and went to join them. Éponine looked exactly as she had the day they'd met under the bridge, but for being a little better fed. Erik was clinging to her shoulders, covered in smeared ashes and dirt, and even his mask hadn't been spared. "I hate seeing you like that," Enjolras muttered, forcing himself not to wipe the dirt off of Éponine's cheek.

"It's not exactly pleasant for me either," she replied. "So, are we going, or aren't we?"

"We are. Come on." They slipped out the door and into the streets. Enjolras leaned against his door as Éponine and Erik slipped into the mass of people, the only indication of their presence Erik's waving hand, and even that soon disappeared.

* * *

Éponine set Erik down on the mattress, sighing heavily. He'd fallen asleep halfway through their journey, and she envied him. There was a ridiculous amount of rustling and bumping going on in the room above them, and it was driving her insane despite having heard it for only minutes. She hurried up the stairs and stuck her head in the flat above hers. "Do you—" she stopped short when she saw who it was.

"Oh… 'Ponine. I didn't know you lived here." Marius Pontmercy looked up from a rather battered trunk. "I… uh, I decided to stop living with Courfeyrac. It's a little too noisy there."

"Uh… uh…" Her tongue wasn't working. She could feel her knees knocking under her tattered skirt.

"Anyway, what are you doing here?" Marius asked, stuffing a shiny black box into a small niche in the wall. "Didn't you have that governess job?"

"Um… I left it." Éponine said lamely. It was the only thing she could think of that was at all intelligent.

"So, you live here now?"

"D-downstairs."

"Oh. That's nice. Well, I still have to unpack, but I'll see you around, won't I?" She nodded. "Good night, then."

"G-good night, Monsieur Marius." She backed out of the doorway and downstairs, relieved to find Erik still asleep on the mattress. She sank down beside him, a numbness spreading in her chest. Just when she'd thought it had finally gone away… just when that niggling in her that Enjolras wasn't Marius had finally left her, something like this happened. "It's not fair," she said bitterly. "It's just not fair."

* * *

**_April 30, 1832_ **

Éponine slipped outside, smelling the wet stones of the streets with a small measure of contentment. She liked the smell, fresh and new. Maybe, just maybe, she'd make this work somehow. "Éponine!" Her good mood was instantly soured by the sound of her father's hoarse bleating voice. She swallowed back the rising bile in her throat and turned to see one of her family's many patches, currently occupied by the entirety of the Patron Minette. Alain Thénardier leaned against an abandoned empty crate, smoking lazily on an old stolen pipe.

"Hello, Daddy," she said, using the childish nickname sarcastically.

"Well, look who's come crawling back. Big fancy job with a rich boy not good enough for you?" Thénardier asked.

"I got bored of it." Éponine shrugged noncommittally. "I did manage to get quite a bit out of him first, though."

"Then where is it?"

"I've hidden it. We need a stash, right?"

Montparnasse snorted piggishly. "I bet you don't have any, and that little girl got bored of you, not the other way around."

"Doesn't make you good enough for me," Éponine countered.

"Both of you, enough!" ordered Thénardier. "As long as you're back, my girl, you're going to make yourself useful to this group again, you hear me?" Éponine waved her acknowledgement lazily. "Then get over here, girl!" Nicole shushed her husband as Éponine took her place beside her mother.

"What happened?" Nicole asked. Éponine shrugged. "Éponine—"

"It's done, mother. I'm back. For better or worse. Just leave it at that. And I'll be staying at my own patch."

"What about that—"

"It's been taken care of. I don't want to talk about it," repeated Éponine. She leaned back, willing it to be nighttime so she could see Enjolras.

It was almost discomforting how quickly she slipped back into the life of the Patron Minette, picking pockets, keeping an eye out for the police, and brushing off Montparnasse's attempts at flirting, but it made the time pass well enough, and she was able to sneak back to the flat every hour or so to check on Erik. The little boy seemed to be taking to the dusty little garret after all, finding niches in the walls and empty spaces in the floor, and getting himself covered in plenty of dust.

Her father let her go at sunset, heading off to God only knew which tavern with everyone else, and she dashed up the stairs to find Enjolras waiting in the door.

"You're late," he announced. "I don't know if I should let you in."

"This is my flat!" She slipped under his arm and stuck out her tongue. "Ha!" Enjolras chuckled, then sobered.

"Do you know who's living upstairs?"

"Oh, I had the pleasure last night." He snorted at her word choice and she blushed. "You know what I meant!"

"I'm still going to give you hell for that. Where's Erik?"

"You mean he's not… oh, for God's sake." She hurried over to the far corner of the room and pulled open the secret panel.

"Boo!" Erik jumped out at them, his mask off. Éponine fell backwards into Enjolras, squeaking in surprise. "Got you!"

"You certainly did." Enjolras laughed, helping Éponine to her feet. "You'll be the death of us one day, Erik, I swear. And I brought something for the two of you." He picked up a bundled package Éponine hadn't seen sitting on the mattress. "It's the rest of the macarons. And a few other things. Erik's pencils and paper. That fairytale book you like. Candles and matches." Éponine hugged him tightly.

"Thank you…"

"Don't get too comfortable, I'm still bringing you two home as soon as I can." He warned . "By the way, Combeferre told me he and Claire have set the date for their wedding."

"Oh, that's great!" Éponine grinned. "When is it?"

"The fifteenth of June."

"A new government would make quite a wedding present," she teased. He nodded solemnly. "You do realize Marius living here presents a bit of a problem, right? We can't keep the secret if he sees you here every day, and I don't think you have the temperament to claim you actually want his company that much."

"You have a point." He sank onto the mattress and gestured for her to join him. "What do you suggest?"

"A week between visits, maybe?" she offered. "I think that's reasonable. Erik?"

"Mmmph!" Erik nodded, stuffing three macarons in his mouth at once.

"Then it's settled. Would you like me to stay longer, or should I go back to my own flat?"

"Go home." She brushed a damp clump of his hair off his forehead. "You look like you need sleep. And so do we."

"Goodnight then." He kissed her forehead, stood, gave Erik one last hug, and slipped out the door. Éponine settled back against the wall, and grabbed the matches, striking one to light a candle and started reading  _The_   _Sleeping Beauty_  aloud as Erik curled up at her feet.

* * *

**_June 1, 1832_ **

"Where are they? Where are our so-called leaders?" Enjolras demanded, looking down at the group of people who had responded to his flyers and gathered at General Lamarque's house. Marius was standing by his side, and Courfeyrac waited by the door, speaking to one of the General's physicians. His features twisted in displeasure as he listened, and he hurried over to whisper in Enjolras's ear as Marius took over speaking.

"They're saying he won't last the week," Courfeyrac murmured. "What… what do we do?" Enjolras grimaced for a moment, then repeated the words.

Marius worked off him easily, something about Judgement Day, and every member of Les Amis took up the cries of "Vive le France!" and "Vive General Lamarque!" As he and Marius dropped into the crowd, he spotted someone staring at them. A slender, filthy girl with dark eyes and hair, bruises on her face and arms. Enjolras felt his blood run cold with guilt as he realized he'd forgotten. He hadn't visited Éponine or Erik for weeks, and the look Éponine was giving him only confirmed it. Her face softened as she looked from him to Marius, and the chill in his veins only became more intense.

Éponine vanished into the crowd, Marius soon doing the same, and Enjolras pulled himself back to the task at hand. "Come on then!" he yelled, pulling Courfeyrac and Combeferre along towards the Musain. "We have work to do."


	15. One Day More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the events of our tale officially catch up with the musical, Éponine breaks her own heart for a friend, and Combeferre acts as conscience to Enjolras

_**June 1, 1832** _

Éponine tried not to scream. Erik had recently gotten into the habit of sleeping for very long periods of time, and she did not want to wake him up. "Damn Sébastien Enjolras," she hissed, creeping up to peek into Marius' flat. "Hey, Monsieur Marius," she whispered shyly, watching him tuck a pistol into his coat. "Anything new to tell me about?" He didn't answer. "How long are you going to pretend you're poor? Everyone knows your grandfather's rich."

"I'm done taking things I've not earned," Marius answered, brushing past her. "I burned that bridge a long time ago."

"I like the way you talk, Monsieur," she called after him, following him down the stairs. Marius stopped on the landing and looked her in the eye, sending tiny shivers up her spine.

"I like how you're always teasing me," he said, slipping out the door.

"Why don't you see then?" she murmured, trying not to cry as she followed him out. "Mar—" She stopped short when she saw him staring across the square. Staring at a young blonde woman on the arm of an older gentleman in a yellow coat. And the girl was staring right back at him.  _Cosette_ , Éponine realized as she felt her heart splinter into a thousand pieces. She knew what those looks meant. God only knew how many times she'd had the same expression on her face while staring at Marius.

"Éponine!" her father's barking voice jolted her out of her thoughts and she hurried back to the patch. "For God's sake, girl, get your head out of the clouds, and pay attention." She didn't answer him. "Just watch for the law with Montparnasse, and don't make trouble, you hear me?"

"Hmph." Éponine scowled and climbed up on a stack of crates, looking sourly out at the scene of Marius staring at Cosette like an idiot.

"You've been very boring lately, 'Ponine," Montparnasse taunted. "What do I have to do to make you interesting again? Reacquaint you with my knife?"

"Threaten me again, and I'll cut your throat with your own blade," she warned. "And that's a promise."

"Well, that's more like my 'Ponine."

"Shut up." She broke off a corner of one of the crates and threw it at him, knocking off his hat. As he bent down to pick it up, she returned her attention to Cosette and Monsieur Fauchelevant, who were being led into the Patron Minette's patch.  _Maybe I should stop them_ , she thought,  _Cosette is still my friend, isn't she? Yes. Yes, I should, I should. It's what's... right. She's still my friend._

"POLICE!" she screamed. "POLICE! RUN FOR IT!" Everyone scattered and Éponine took advantage of the chaos to slip away and sulk. She remembered it all now. Just how horrible she'd been as a child. And now, she was married to someone who'd forgotten her, living on a fistful of food a day, and trying to keep up her double life as best she could. "Look what's become of me," she sobbed. "Look what's become of me..."

"Éponine, wait up!" Marius came running up behind her. "Éponine!"

"What?" she snapped, and he stepped back. "I... I'm sorry. What is it?"

"That girl. I saw you looking at her. Do you know her?"

"She's some bourgeoise two a penny thing," Éponine answered.

"Could you find her for me?"

"What would you give me if I did?"

"Anything." The speed at which he answered made her die a little inside. He didn't have any doubts at all.

"Well, aren't you excited," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "God knows what you see in her, but I'll do it." Marius's face lit up and he started rummaging in his pockets. "No! I don't want your money!"

"Then what would you like?"

 _Oh, nothing much, just for you to see me as more than a little street girl. For you to love me instead of Cosette_ , she said in her mind. "Nothing. But I told you so. I told you, I do know things." And with that, she slipped into the shadows, and back into the house. Careful not to wake the sleeping Erik, she lifted him up and wrapped him in one of their threadbare blankets, doing her best to cover his face. "We need to get you out of here, little one," she whispered. "You're not safe... Oh, God, are you going to be safe anywhere?" A thought came to her. "Right, then, let's go."

She slipped out of the house with Erik in her arms, and started making her way to a place that she'd not visited in a very long time. The Musée Cluny. "Brother Matthieu?" she called, rapping on the door. "Brother Matt—" The door opened to reveal an older looking priest, who stared at her. No, not at her. At Erik.

"Brother Matthieu isn't here, Mademoiselle. But I would appreciate it if you would come inside with me."

"Why?"

"We need to talk about that child you're holding." The priest stepped aside, and gestured for her to come inside. Éponine stepped inside, sighing heavily. "How did you come by him? How did you get Erik?"

"How do you know his name?" Éponine asked, pulling Erik closer to her chest.

"I gave it to him. And he's quite a long way from home."

"Where is home?"

"Saint-Martin-de-Boscherville." The priest led her down a hallway into an office and locked the door behind them. "His mother's name is Madeleine—"

"I don't care who his mother is. She gave him up, he's mine now," snapped Éponine defensively. The priest's eyes widened a little, but he nodded gravely, and gestured to one of the chairs. She sat, staring back at him boldly. "What else do you want to know?"

"Why are you here?"

"I need somewhere to keep him while... while things are happening. My, er..." Before she could stop herself, the entire story began pouring out of her. The priest stood, listening patiently, and when she finished, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "I just... wanted somewhere to keep him safe. I thought Brother Matthieu could do that. But... if you already know about him... could you do it?"

"My dear child, I'm to return to Boscherville in a week's time. What would you have me do then?"

"Take him with you. Enjolras and I can find you easily enough. But please. Please, I need someone who'll keep him safe." Éponine said. "I need to go to the barricades. It's where I belong."

"For your husband? Or for this Marius boy?"

"That's my business." Éponine said coolly. "What I need to know is if you can do what I'm asking."

"I can."

"Then please do."

"And what should I do if you do not return for him?"

Éponine chewed her lip, thinking for a minute. "Well, first of all, if I don't come back, but Enjolras does, give Erik to him. But... if the worst does happen... can I write a letter? To his mother? And a second one to Erik?"

"If you wish." The priest took a sheet of paper and a pen from the desk and passed them to her. Éponine carefully passed Erik into his arms and started writing.

* * *

"Enjolras, are you alright?" Combeferre asked, placing a light hand on Enjolras' shoulder. Enjolras nodded and brushed his friend's hand away.

"I'm fine. But do you all feel it?" He turned to face the rest of Les Amis. "The time... it's drawing near, stirring the blood in everyone's veins. We can't afford to let down our guard now." He gave Grantaire a very pointed glance. "What we need now is a sign, something the people can rally behind." Marius climbed up the stairs, stumbling even more than usual. "Marius, you're late."

"Are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost," Courfeyrac remarked.

"Have a drink, tell us everything," Grantaire called out, offering a bottle until Enjolras gave him a dirty look.

"A ghost," Marius repeated. "Maybe she was a ghost... one minute there, and then gone..."

"She? She! Ha! Marius Pontmercy, in love at last!" Grantaire declared. "Look at him, our own little Don Juan! My dear Courfeyrac, you have competition!"

"THAT'S ENOUGH." Enjolras yelled. Everyone turned their heads to look at him. "We don't have time for such trivial things. We need to remember what's important. Don't you see it? The way the world's colors are changing? The dark of the skies being overtaken by a dawn stained with the blood of angry men?"

"You weren't there," Marius said quietly. "You don't know the power of a glance..." Enjolras felt his fist tighten at his side.

"Marius, I know you mean well, but how can you think about yourself when there is a far higher call! There are people out there suffering at every moment and you're treating this like it's some kind of game."

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't tell me, show me," Enjolras barked gruffly, stabbing the map of Paris with his finger. "Get to work."

"Hey! Hey!" Gavroche scrambled up the stairs. "Hey, everyone! Listen! Listen to me!"

"What is it, Gavroche?" Courfeyrac asked, hurrying to the little boy.

"I... I was outside General Lamarque's house. And I heard the priests. He's dead, everyone. General Lamarque is dead." The entire café fell silent. Joly turned to Musichetta who squeezed his hand tightly. Bossuet and Bahorel looked down at the posters they'd been printing. Feuilly removed his cap and bowed his head. Combeferre placed his right hand over his heart. And Enjolras dropped both his hands to the table, inhaling deeply.

"That's... that's it!" he yelled. Everyone looked at him in surprise. "Listen! Don't you understand? With his final breath, Lamarque has given us a golden opportunity. Think about it! At his funeral, the whole city will be there, every citizen of Paris mourning their only voice. And from their grief, we can fan it into a blaze of rebellion!"

"It's mad," Feuilly exhaled.

"But it could work." Courfeyrac murmured.

"It will!" Combeferre declared emphatically. "Enjolras, you're right! It's mad, yes, but I think it can work!"

"A toast to the brilliant mind of Orestes!" Grantaire declared.

" _Grantaire, put the bottle down and help us!_ " Enjolras hissed. Éponine appeared on the landing beneath them, looking at them sullenly. Enjolras looked back at his wife blankly, before returning his focus to the papers. He felt Marius brush past him.

"Did you find her?" Marius asked. Éponine didn't answer. The sound of their feet faded out and Enjolras felt a hand grip his arm. He looked up to see Combeferre looking at him.

"Enjolras... can we talk?"

"Can it wait?"

"No. Now." Combeferre pulled him away from the map. "Courfeyrac, can you take over for a moment?" Courfeyrac nodded, and stepped in as Combeferre led Enjolras to the window. "What happened to you and—"

"Everything is fine." Enjolras interrupted.

"It doesn't look fine. Why is she dressed like that?"

"It's camoflauge, and—"

"Enjolras, I was there when you made a promise. You are going to keep it, aren't you?"

"Of course I'm going to keep it. What sort of man do you take me for?"

"Enjolras, I'm not doubting your character in the least, but—"

"Combeferre, I can handle my own problems. Right now, we need to focus on the problems at hand."

"But Enjolras—"

"It's fine." Enjolras pulled away and returned to the map, scowling a little.

* * *

Éponine followed Marius along the streets, trying not to scream as he smiled. "I'm a thousand miles up!" he declared, spinning around. "Éponine, you're the best friend anyone could ever ask for!" He grabbed her hands and spun her with him. She forced herself to laugh as they whirled around.

As Marius let go of her hands, she exhaled. "Why... why must you do this to me?" He clearly wasn't listening to her as he approached the wrought iron gates that led to Cosette's beloved garden. Éponine hesitated for a moment, then scooped up a fistful of rocks and flung them into the garden, making a rattling noise. Amidst the green, a white figure appeared, blonde hair gleaming softly in the moonlight. As Cosette drew closer, Éponine pulled back into the shadows. The place where she belonged.

"Is.. is it you? Are you real?" Marius whispered.

"As real as you are." Cosette answered.

"I... I..." Marius exhaled guiltily. "Oh, God, I'm doing everything all wrong."

"I don't mind it at all."

"I don't even know your name... but mine... mine is Marius Pontmercy."

"Marius," Cosette repeated the name reverently, just as Éponine had done for years. "It's a wonderful name."

"And yours?"

"Cosette. My name's Cosette."

"Cosette..." Marius repeated. "It's beautiful." Éponine clenched her skirts in her fists, and exhaled.  _He is a fool,_  she told herself,  _and you are a fool for loving him._

"Cosette!" Fauchelevant called out from the house. "Cosette, what are you doing out there?"

"I'm coming, Papa!" Cosette called, gripping Marius' hand before running back into the house. Having lectured his daughter, Fauchelevant stepped into the garden as Marius hid behind the walls. A moment passed and then the old man returned to his home. Marius bent down to retrieve a handkerchief that Cosette had dropped and slipped into the night, humming as he went. Éponine was left alone, with nothing. She was getting ready to leave when she spotted a familiar band of faces waiting in the shadows.

"Who's this hussy?" Thénardier demanded, brandishing his cane.

"Don't recognize your own daughter, Thénardier?" Montparnasse mocked. "Sad day, sad indeed."

"What are you doing here, 'Ponine? You're not needed."

"And neither are you!" she countered. "Look, I know this house, and there's nothing here you could possibly want. The old man and his daughter, they're ordinary people, they don't have anything—"

"Oh, shut your mouth and get back home, will you?" her father hissed.

"Take one step over that gate and I'll scream," she warned. "I'll warn them."

"If you do any such thing, you'll regret it for the rest of your miserable little life, I promise you!"

"HEEEEEEEEEEEELP!" Éponine shrieked, ducking out of his reach. "HELP!" There was a slam of a door, and the Patron Minette scattered.

"You little brat!" Thénardier slapped his daughter across the face. Éponine's head snapped backwards and her cheek stung wildly as tears began to trickle down her face. "You'll pay for this, Éponine, I promise you! You will rue this night!"

 _I already do,_ she thought, crumpling against the wall as her father skulked away. Cosette reappeared by the gate, sliding an envelope into the iron twists before vanishing again. Éponine crept forward and pulled it out. Marius's name stared up at her in Cosette's handwriting. Without hesitation, she broke it open and read her friend's letter. Inside was written an address for an apartment on the Rue de L'Homme Armee, along with the news that Cosette and her father would soon be leaving for Calais. And then for England. Éponine slowly refolded the letter and tucked it inside her bodice. Above her, the skies seemed to be weeping too. The cold of the rain bit into her skin and ran down her face. And for the first time in a long time, a fog began to leak into her mind and a ghostly figure appeared behind her.

"I thought I was done with you," she said bitterly.

"I suppose you need me now," the figure replied, and she felt his phantom limbs wrap around her.

"No... No, I don't need you. All you've done is give me horridly wonderful moments of hope, and then lose it all over again," she sobbed.

"I am lucky to have you, Éponine. Any man would be—"

"Well, now you've lost me," she snapped. "And it's gone, it's all gone... This world... there's so much happiness in it, and I had one taste, one brief taste, and then I lost it."

"I'm sorry..." The vision dissipated as she sank to the ground, sobbing. As she clenched her fists, she strengthened her resolve. She knew what she had to do. She rose and slipped back into Gorbeau House and up to Marius's room.

"Monsieur Marius..." she called quietly. He looked up at her. "It's... It's Cosette. I came to tell you she's gone."

"What?" All the color leeched out of Marius's face in horror.

"I'm... I'm sorry, the house is empty... she's gone."

"No... No!" Marius pushed past her, running out into the streets. Éponine drew out the letter and bit her lip.

* * *

**_June 4, 1832_ **

_On the eve of the funeral for General Jean Maximilien Lamarque, the whole of Paris seemed to be writhing with anticipation. In her small room, Éponine Thénardier bound her breasts tightly and tucked her hair beneath a cap, while Sébastien Enjolras circulated the Café Musain, preparing for the battles that were soon to come. And throughout the city, a single phrase seemed to be pulsing._

_One day more till revolution._

_One day more till things would change for ever._

_One day more._


	16. Return to the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which shots are fired, and someone falls

**_June 5, 1832_ **

Éponine stood in the ranks of mourners, watching not only the funeral procession, but Les Amis, who were scattered among the crowd. She was standing next to Courfeyrac, a few places down from Marius, and directly across from Enjolras. Her hand felt oddly light without the black-stoned ring, but there was a frantic energy running through everyone that distracted her from its absence.

As the last row of drummers passed him, Enjolras began singing softly, Les Amis picking up the song from him. "Do you hear the people sing, singing the song of angry men? It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again. When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!" The song spread in ripples, picking up in volume and energy. "Will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me? Somewhere, beyond the barricade, is there a world you long to see?"

Enjolras broke ranks to jump in front of the hearse, waving a patched red flag. "Then join in the fight that will give you the right to be free!" Les Amis joined him in the procession, singing the chorus again, climbing up on the hearse and waving flags. Éponine followed, walking by the carriage wheel. The parade of revolutionaries stopped as they rounded the elephant of the Bastille, blocked by a company of cavalry men. Every one of Les Amis drew some form of weapon; a pistol, a sword, a rifle. Éponine's step faltered and she raised her hands fearfully.

"Hold!" one of the guards yelled. "Draw!" Steel rang through the air as they drew their swords, and a gunshot pierced the silence, knocking over an elderly lady on the other side of the carriage.

"She's an innocent woman! MURDERER!" Combeferre yelled. Chaos erupted from every corner of the square, brawls between citizens and National Guardsmen breaking out every way Éponine looked.

"TO THE BARRICADES!" Enjolras shouted. Éponine ran after Marius, who had stolen one of the horses and was riding with the scarlet flag streaming behind him. Éponine let herself get swept into the rush of students following him back to the square outside the Musain.

"We need as much furniture as you can throw down!" Courfeyrac yelled. Wood seemed to be falling from the sky, tables, chairs, mattresses, and even a piano, which came down with a loud, discordant bang. Éponine started shoving smaller pieces of debris into the larger wrecks.

"I need a volunteer! Someone who can find out their plan, and when they will attack!" Enjolras's voice pierced through the din. Éponine thought about volunteering, but an old man beat her to it. "And you." She felt fingers clamp tightly around her arm and turned to look at Enjolras. "Did you honestly think I wouldn't recognize you?" he hissed. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Building a barricade," Éponine answered bluntly, shoving in a few more pieces of wood.

"Why aren'y you at home with Erik?"

"When you say home, do you mean the cozy little flat you've been living in, or the hell hole I've been living in?" she snapped.

"I know, I know, you've every right to be upset with me, but I promise, you can come back soon—"

"Like when you promised to visit?"

"Things got complicated!" he protested. "But I can't have you here, in harm's way. And who's looking after Erik?"

"Father Mansart at the Musée Cluny. I'm not an idiot, you know, I did think things out before I did them."

"You're mad, and I'm not going to tell you again,  _go home_."

"You wanted me to keep up," she countered. "This is me, keeping up. This is me, running ahead. Now, can you keep up with me?" Saying so, she wriggled out of his grip and slipped away from him, starting a blockade alongside Courfeyrac in another part of the street.

The day changed into night without any confrontation, only the frantic anticipation of the students, and soon the old man had returned. "Their army… it's enormous," he revealed. Éponine furrowed her brow as she listened with the others. There was something familiar about this old man… "We'll need cunning—"

"No." Enjolras said firmly, as the old man entered the barricade. "Cunning is the way of the bourgeois. We fight as the people, we'll overcome them. Did you learn anything else?"

"They won't attack us, not yet. They want to starve us out before they attack from… the right." The hesitating, the droopy old face…  _Javert_ , she realized.

"LIAR!" Gavroche yelled out, "you know me, and I know you, Inspector Javert!" Every gun went up, training on the police inspector, and Courfeyrac and Grantaire grabbed him by the arms.

"Well spotted, Gavroche," Courfeyrac congratulated the boy gravely.

"So what do we do with him?" Prouvaire demanded, jabbing his rifle squarely at Javert's face.

"Get him inside!" Enjolras barked. "Tie him up to await his judgement."

"Death to all of you!" Javert yelled, lashing out at the boys, and knocking Courfeyrac to the ground. Les Amis swarmed the old man, pulling him into the café. Éponine stayed where she was, leaning against the front wall by a large pile of guns, as she listened to the fighting, which was cut off by Enjolras giving a loud grunt, followed by a thud. And then, the sound of marching feet became audible, growing louder and closer.

"Positions!" Enjolras barked. Éponine passed a rifle to Marius as the boys all hurried past her, and he took it without so much as a glance her way. The students stationed themselves upon the barricade, brandishing their guns tensely. Enjolras settled into a niche in the middle, next to a small hole where he could see out to the other side.

"Who's there?" A voice on the far end called.

"French revolution," Enjolras answered coolly.

"FIRE!" the voice yelled. Cannons went off, guns fired, students yelled wildly.

"Comrades, do not fire back! Do not waste powder! " Enjolras shouted over the clamor, but his words did no good as the second volley of bullets began raining down on them.

Éponine drew closer, swapping empty muskets for new ones, and dodging shots as best she could. She spotted Marius climbing to the top of the barricade, a National Guardsman aiming a gun right at him. "NO!" she screamed, scaling the barricade with unnatural speed, and throwing herself between the soldier and Marius. She felt the bayonet run though her. And then the gunshot.

* * *

Enjolras spotted Marius brandishing a torch and barrel of gunpowder, and the two were dangerously close. "Marius!" he hissed.

"Clear out or I'll blow up the barricade!" Marius shouted, holding the torch an inch closer. Everyone froze, regardless of the side they were fighting on.

"Blow it up then and take yourself with it!" Enjolras recognized his childhood acquaintance, Pierre Leblanc, the same man Grand-pére had been pushing towards Marianne.  _I may kill you just for thinking you're worthy of my sister,_  he thought bitterly, keeping Marius in his sights. The lanky baron was staring Leblanc in the face, resolute in his promise.

"And myself with it," he repeated solemnly.

"Clear out!" Leblanc yelled, backing off the barricade, along with the rest of the guards.

"Give me that." Enjolras snatched the torch from Marius. "You are absolutely mad, Marius, but you just saved all of us."

"What were you thinking, Marius, you could have gotten us all killed!" Combeferre shouted. "My life is not yours to waste, Marius!"

Marius ignored Combeferre but stopped short, causing Enjolras to stop too. Lying against the barricade was…."Éponine." Marius knelt by her side. Éponine's hat had been knocked off, her dark hair falling around her face, beads of water hanging on it as rain fell from above her. In her hand, she held out an envelope tinged with red grime of some kind. "What have you done?" Marius whispered, taking it from her.

"I'm sorry I kept it from you," she whispered. As she lowered her hand, her coat opened, revealing a garish red void in her chest, blood trickling out grotesquely.

"You're hurt!" Marius whispered in horror. Enjolras only stared numbly.

"It's fine," Éponine smiled weakly. "It's just a little rain, Monsieur Marius. Rain's a good thing, don't you know that? It makes the little flowers grow." Her dark eyes stared out wildly. "But you're here now… that's all I need…." she coughed. "Enjolras. Where is he?"

"Here," he answered mechanically.

"He… he needs you," she whispered urgently. "You've got to get him back. I… I left him a letter, told him I loved him, and I was so sorry, and I didn't want to… I just wanted to have my one moment… Oh!" She doubled over, grabbing at her wound and Marius encircled her with his arms. "Oh," she murmured again. "Oh, I'm home. I can sleep now… Monsieur Marius, please, promise me something, will you?"

"Anything!" Marius swore without hesitation.

"When I'm asleep… promise to kiss me good-night. Just on the forehead, I'll feel it, I promise… Give me that , will you?"

"Of course… of course," Marius's face became more solemn as the depth of her words sank in. "But… you must stay…"

"I have to fly," she corrected, reaching up to touch his face. "You know, Monsieur Marius, I was a little in love with you…" And with one final shudder, she closed her eyes. Her hand dropped against his arms.

"No… No!" Marius gasped, pulling her closer and kissing her forehead. Enjolras watched, feeling both cold and hot water running down his own cheeks, and his fists tighten at his side. Slowly, he stepped towards Marius and bent down, but felt Combeferre with him. The titian-haired philosopher lifted Éponine's cold body up and carried her into the Musain. Enjolras placed an awkward hand on the shoulders of a weeping Marius. "I killed her, Enjolras. She was only here for me."

 _You're wrong,_  Enjolras thought bitterly,  _she was here for both of us. And we were both fools._  "She won't go unavenged, Marius. I swear it. We'll get as many of those bastards as we can."

"Would you… might I have a moment alone?"

"Of course." Enjolras stood and walked into the tavern, fully aware of everyone watching. Combeferre was kneeling on the ground, placing Éponine's hands over her heart. Her expression was peaceful, as if she were sleeping, but both men knew that wasn't the case. "Don't—"

"Just tell me what happened. How did you two… how did this happen?"

"I broke my promise." Enjolras confessed. "You were right. I… they were hidden for security, and I neglected them. Please, Combeferre… just let me… let me say goodbye to her."

"Did you think I would deny you that?" Combeferre touched his shoulder gently. "I'll signal you if there's another attack." With that, he let go of Enjolras and slipped out of the café.

Once he was alone, Enjolras dropped to his knees. "I'm sorry, Éponine," he repeated over and over. "I'm so sorry. I promised I'd protect you… I said I'd be there for you, and I got you killed… and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry… But I'll do it. I'll fight this war, and I'll win it. For you, and for Erik, for everyone. I'm going to make this a world where he can be loved just as much as you love… loved him. I promise you that, and I will keep this promise, or die trying. Our son will be the inheritor of a better world. I swear it. I swear it." As if the universe had heard his oath, the rain slowly stopped and the faintest hint of moonlight peeked through the window. A soft wind seemed to ruffle his hair, and… just for a moment, it seemed that Éponine smiled, one last time.


	17. Forgive Me, Permets-Tu?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Friends of the ABC make their final stand, and Pylades remains by the side of Orestes to the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O, Online-but-not-final screenplay of Les Misérables, you are both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, you save me typing and rewatching the movie a few dozen times. On the other, you're no longer accurate to movie canon. Gah.  
> For those of you with E/R feels, I finally got around to sprinkling them in for this chapter.

**_June 5, 1832_ **

When Enjolras finally emerged from the café, it was probably sometime past midnight. Gavroche was about to sneak away. "Gavroche, what are you doing?" he asked.

"Favor for Marius," Gavroche answered, holding up a crumpled letter. "He asked me to deliver it to a friend of his on the Rue de L'Homme Armee."

"When you've done that, can you make a stop at the Musée Cluny and deliver this to Father Mansart?" Enjolras held out the letter he'd written while keeping vigil by Éponine's body.

"Of course I can!" Gavroche took the letter and stuffed it inside his jacket. "Anything for our fearless leader." With a cheeky salute, he climbed through a small opening in the barricade.

"What was that about?" Courfeyrac asked, coming up behind him.

"Trying to get him away from here. After Ép— that girl's death, I keep thinking, I don't want another innocent's blood on my hands."

"Enjolras, we're all here by choice—"

"But this war is one that's supposed to be fought  _for_  him, not  _by_  him. He's a child, Courfeyrac, no matter what you say—"

"The girl who was killed was his sister." Courfeyrac interrupted. Enjolras clenched his jaw, refusing to let it drop. _Siblings?_  Éponine had never told him Gavroche was her brother. And now, he'd never get the chance to ask her about anything else. Or her about him. "Wouldn't you say that gives him a very good reason to be here?"

"If he gets killed, I'll never forgive myself."

"He won't be."

"Enjolras, I need you here for an inventory report!" Combeferre yelled.

"On my way!" Enjolras hurried over to meet his lieutenant, who was hovering by their stash of supplies. "What resources do we have?"

"Maybe three barrels of gunpowder, a few swords, and eight spare rifles. We've more guns than gunners. Or ammunition."

"Joly used up some of the laudanum on me," Bahorel explained, "and bandages. I got nicked. Bossuet, too."

"Was anyone else injured?"

"Not that we know of."

"Enjolras!" Joly yelled from atop the barricade. "Come see this!"

"Don't shoot!" someone on the other side yelled.

"You're in uniform. What brings you to this place?" Joly asked, refusing to lower his rifle. Enjolras reached the top of the barricade to get a look at their visitor. It was an older gentleman with greying hair, probably well off, given the neatness of his appearance. The army officer's coat he was wearing was over an ordinary set of civilian's clothes.

"I've come here as a volunteer," the man said, raising his hands calmly.

"Get closer. Let us see you."

"Joly, no," Jehan protested. "He's wearing an army uniform—"

"That's why they let me through, monsieur."

"Let him in," Enjolras ordered. One of the sentries pulled aside the slot in the barricade to allow the man entry.

"No offense, monsieur, but you've got some years behind you," Joly remarked.

"There's still much that I can do." Every one of Les Amis trained their guns on the old man at his words.

"That prisoner over there said the same thing." Joly jabbed his head into the Musain, where Javert was still bound in the corner.

"You understand our mistrust, sir," explained Combeferre, "our last volunteer proved to be a spy, an inspector named Javert."

"He's going to get it too!" Grantaire taunted, but the man wasn't looking at him, only staring at the inspector, who seemed to be staring back steadily.

"Get him inside—" Combeferre barked.

"Don't kill him!" Gavroche urged, emerging from his secret passage, his face flushed. "I know him!"

"ENEMY MARKSMAN ON THE ROOF!" the man shouted, grabbing a gun and shooting upwards. Enjolras realized that he'd been the target of the snipers above them. As the soldiers scattered, students joined in the shooting, Enjolras managed to hit at least three with his pistol and two muskets before their foes had been driven back.

"Eyes on the rooftops, stay on guard!" Bahorel yelled.

"Thank you…" Enjolras whispered to their unknown savior.

"Give me no thanks, M'sieur. There's something you can do to repay me."

"If it is in my power, it's yours," Enjolras promised.

"Give me the spy. Javert. Let me be the one to take care of him." As if the old man had told him to expect it, Gavroche held up a pistol immediately, and the gentleman took it.

"Do what you have to do - The man belongs to you," Enjolras said, slightly numb.

"Enjolras, no!" Combeferre protested.

"Combeferre, I have always appreciated your council, but this needs to be done." Enjolras pulled his friend aside. "That man saved my life, and possibly my son's. I owe him a debt. A life for a life."

"You said his fate would be decided by the people. This murder will be on your hands, Enjolras."

"If that is the price I pay to make the world a better place, then so be it." Enjolras turned back to the little army as Combeferre drifted back towards the cafe.  _"_ The enemy may be regrouping! Hold yourselves in readiness! Come, my friends, back to your positions! The dawn is breaking fast." People stood waiting anxiously until a single shot rang in the air. The old man emerged from the alleyway, holding the gun with a grim expression on his face.

"It's done."

Enjolras nodded solemnly. "Courfeyrac, you take the watch - They may attack before it's light." Courfeyrac nodded and began climbing the barricade. "Everybody, keep the faith. we are not alone in this, certain as our banner flies. We have to believe that the people too will rise to conquer." There were a few murmurs of agreement as Les Amis settled into small niches in the barricade, trying to get comfortable as best they could. Marius alone remained standing, manically working to raise the height of one of the smaller barricades _._  "Marius." Enjolras stepped over and placed a hand on the younger man's shoulders. "Rest." Marius slowly nodded and sank down onto the ground.

 _"_ Drink with me…" Enjolras turned to see Grantaire, whose fingers were resting on the shattered keys of a ruined piano. The pale skinned cynic was singing a drinking song they used to sing on more energetic nights at the Musain, but he had turned it into a soft, mournful ballad. "To days gone by…"

"Sing with me the songs we knew…" Feuilly chimed in.

"Here's to pretty girls, who went to our heads!" Jehan toasted the air, smiling sadly.

"Here's to witty girls, who went to our beds!" Joly toasted at Musichetta, who blushed.

"Here's to them - and here's to you!" Enjolras and the others joined in the singing.

"Drink with me to days gone by! Can it be you fear to die?" Enjolras felt Grantaire's fingers land on his shoulder.

"Grantaire, that's enough—" he tried to pry the cynic's hand off, but Grantaire held fast, turning him so they were eye to eye?"

"Will the world remember you when you fall? Can it be your death means nothing at all?Is your life just one more lie?"

Any other time, Enjolras would have brushed him aside easily, but on this night, his legs gave out and he fell against Grantaire, weeping as the others sang.

"Drink with me to days gone by! To the life that used to be! At the shrine of friendship, never say die… Let the wine of friendship never run dry! Here's to you, and here's to me!"

"Enjolras, are you all right?" Grantaire asked, helping him stand.

"No…" Enjolras staggered over to the wall of the Musain, trying to use it for support, but his knees buckled again. Grantaire caught him before he could fall again. "Stay with me, R. Please."

"Pylades shall remain as long as Orestes requires him," promised Grantaire, lowering them both to the ground. Enjolras felt his eyelids flicker as the heat of Grantaire's body warmed him, and within minutes, sleep had claimed him.

* * *

**_June 6, 1832_ **

The next morning dawned, and Enjolras was up with the sun, gently disentangling himself from Grantaire's arms before climbing up to meet the sentry. "The others are all gone," the boy said. Enjolras felt a stab of guilt. The boy before him couldn't have been more than seventeen, and his life now had almost no chance of getting longer. He climbed down into the circle of waiting revolutionaries.

"We're the only ones left," he announced. They exchanged worried glances and murmurs, but he held up a hand. "Let us not waste lives. If anyone wishes to go, do so with my blessing. The people have abandoned us, but I'll not abandon them, not while I still draw breath." A few people shifted uncomfortably. Madame Hucheloup and Musichetta slipped into the shadows, Musichetta pausing to kiss Joly. But not one person moved to leave the barricade.

"Do you hear the people sing?" They all looked up to see Gavroche, who was smiling bravely.

"Singing the song of angry men?" Courfeyrac added his voice to that of the little gamin.

Others began to join in with them, even Enjolras, who caught Combeferre smiling at him. "It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again! When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!" As they took up their positions once more, Feuilly hurried over to him.

"Enjolras, ammunition's short."

"Let me go into the streets," Marius offered. "There are bullets in corpses, plenty of ammunition."

"I can't let you do that." Enjolras insisted.  _Because Éponine would never forgive me if I let you die._

"I can go," the old man offered. "There's not much of my life left…" He trailed off as the faint sound of a song became audible.

"...when little people fight! We may look easy pickings—"

"Gavroche!" Combeferre hissed, climbing up the barricade to reach the boy, who was snatching ammunition from the bodies of the National Guard.

"But we got some bite! So never kick a dog because he's just a pup!" One of the guards at the end of the alleyway fired, hitting the coffin at the front of the barricade. Gavroche looked back and grinned smugly at Combeferre.

"Gavroche, get back here!" the guide pleaded again, but the child turned back to face their enemies.

"We'll fight like twenty armies, and we won't give up!"

Courfeyrac raced to the top of the barricade, desperately scrambling as Combeferre struggled to hold him back. "Gavroche! Gavroche! Don't!"

"Theo, don't!" Combeferre grunted. "Help me hold him back!"

"GAVROCHE!" Courfeyrac yelled as the guards fired again, this time, hitting Gavroche in the shoulder.

"I have to get him!" Courfeyrac protested as Combeferre and Bossuet pushed him back to safety. "Open the path, let me get to him!"

"SO YOU BETTER RUN FOR COVER WHEN THE PUP…" Courfeyrac made it past the barricade, hesitating at the stone archway. Enjolras and Marius stood behind him, guns at the ready, and watching Gavroche. "GROWS…" One last shot fired, and Gavroche fell to the ground, his eyes staring vacantly towards the skies.

"NO!" Courfeyrac screamed, running forward to retrieve the child. Marius raised his rifle on the National Guard as Courfeyrac carried the dead boy back, sobbing. He placed Gavroche on the ground before collapsing against Combeferre.

"Sébastien!" Enjolras felt his blood boil as he heard Pierre Leblanc using his given name. "Sébastien… All of you, listen to me. Paris lies sleeping, and no one is coming to help you. You don't have a chance of winning, why throw your lives away?"

Every gun on the barricade went up, and Enjolras climbed to the top, to get the best shot he could. "Let us die facing our foes, and never yield!" he urged. "Let's make them bleed while we can, and see if they bleed the same red we do!"

"Make them pay through the nose," Combeferre agreed, still holding Courfeyrac tightly.

"Make them pay for every life they've already taken!" Courfeyrac begged.

"And so we shall! And when we fall, let others rise to take our place until our battle is finally won and the earth is free!" With that declaration, Enjolras aimed his rifle squarely between Pierre's eyes. He could feel his former acquaintance staring back at him. Never letting his eyes waver, Pierre shouted an order.

"CANNONS!"

"Hold…" Marius whispered as the cannons drew closer. When they were ten steps away, Enjolras gave the command.

"FIRE!" Shots went off in a roar and the Amis swapped their empty rifles for new ones as the guards began to fall. "SECOND VOLLEY!"

However well their initial offense had been, their energy started to flag and their luck began to run out. Marius was hit in the arm. Combeferre spotted more men coming from the sides. And the sheer numbers of their enemy were beginning to overwhelm them.

Bahorel and Bossuet were among the first to fall. As the guards began to swarm the barricade, those still well enough to fight tried to beat them back with swords, with bayonets, anything they could find. Some banged on doors, screaming for help, for shelter. "GET INSIDE!" Enjolras yelled, pulling Jehan away from one of the doors and rushing as many of his friends as he could into the Musain.

"We have barricade the door!" Combeferre yelled.

"I've got it!" Marius ran back outside only to be hit.

"Marius!" The old man shouted, turning back for the fallen baron. "Marius!" The last Enjolras saw of them, they were disappearing into the shadows.  _Be safe,_  he thought, returning to the task of breaking down the stairs to the second floor.

"Help me up!" he yelled as Jehan collapsed, back riddled with bullet holes. Courfeyrac and Combeferre lifted him up, and he climbed onto the second floor, offering his hands to each of them, followed by Joly.

"We're done for," Joly gasped dryly as they huddled together, panting heavily.

"Shhh!" Enjolras urged, pulling back against the wall. The others looked at him with confusion just as the guns went off. All three fell to the ground like puppets whose strings had been cut. As they fell, Enjolras realized there was someone else in the room. Grantaire lay asleep by the balustrade.  _You must have hidden here when you realized we were doomed_ , Enjolras thought sadly, slowly stepping along the room's edge towards the window.  _Very well, Grantaire, if you are the one to live, so be it. Let at least one of us escape this bloody fate._  He removed the tattered red flag from the pole outside, clutching it tightly as Erik would hold his blanket.

_Goodbye, Erik. I'm sorry I failed you, my son. And your mother. Forgive me, my friends, my brave friends, for leading you to your deaths. Goodbye, Marianne. You must defy Grandpere alone from now on. I am glad you were smiling the last time I saw you, little sister. Goodbye, France. I am sorry I could not do what I set out to do for you._

The guns slowly stopped firing, as did the cannons, and the soldiers broke through at last to the upper room. Enjolras stood resolute, knowing he was about to die, determined to seem proud and unafraid. Seeing him, Pierre hesitated. Somehow, the sudden silence woke Grantaire from his drunken slumber. "Long live the Republic!" he declared, raising himself and breaking through the guards to stand before Enjolras, who let the corners of his mouth rise just slightly.

" _Permets-tu?_ " Grantaire asked, offering his hand. Enjolras nodded, and took the warm, sweaty hand in his own. He could feel their blood racing together as he raised the flag defiantly.

"Fire," Pierre whispered, almost inaudible. Enjolras kept his eyes raised as he felt the bullets enter his body. Grantaire was knocked against the wall but his grip held fast as his hand began to turn cold. Enjolras fell backwards through the window, his foot catching on the frame, and his hand never loosening from Grantaire's. His back hit the sill, making his head snap forward. And then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that this is up to date with its FF.Net counterpart, I'm now on hiatus for NaNoWrimo. Enjoy your dead revolutionaries.


	18. Interlude: Marianne et Madeleine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two women feel the loss of those who fell.

**_June 13, 1832_ **

"Marianne!"

"It's just coming, Grandpere!" Sighing, Marianne angrily put the kettle back over the fire, shooting glares at the teapot. Something else that Grandpere had insisted upon. Really, did he think that her best chances of finding a husband would include how well and how swiftly she could make a pot of tea? She could understand his worries to an extent, however, as time was swiftly passing. She would soon be seventeen, and yet not one man had expressed particular interest in her. Her thoughts fluttered back to the time she'd spent with Bastien and his friends over Christmas. Some of them, now, she could see herself wanting to marry. Courfeyrac, perhaps.

Nudging open the door to Grandpere's sitting room, Marianne arranged her face into what she hoped was a docile, compliant expression. She'd just set the tea tray down on the table when there was a brisk knocking on the door. Excusing herself, Marianne went to open the door, glad for any excuse to leave the old man's company.

Outside the house, Pierre paced anxiously around, thinking. He'd volunteered for the this solemn task for the simple fact that he'd be able to see Marianne again. Having exchanged – in secret – letters to her grandfather, he was gladdened to hear that Grandpere gave his blessing to his courting of Marianne. Shooting a glare at the twelve guards who'd accompanied him – six to each wooden coffin – as they were milling around, ordering them back into formation out of view of the door as they waited. As he heard the door start to open, he turned swiftly, coming to attention as Marianne stood, framed, in the doorway.

"Mar— Mademoiselle Enjolras?" He began politely, keeping his expression neutral, unsure as to how well-schooled in reading body language she was.

"Naturally. You've known me for long enough," she replied, a little tartly, wondering why he'd come all the way to Rennes. Ignoring her expression, Pierre removed his hat with a great deal of solemnity and ceremony.

"May I come in? I have news from Paris that you and your grandfather need to hear." The second those words fell from his lips, Marianne paled. Paris meant Bastien, and that probably meant trouble. Worried, she nodded wordlessly and opened the door wider.

"Grandpere is in his sitting room. This way." Leading the way through the house after shutting the door, she nudged open the sitting room door. "Grandpere, Pierre has brought us news from Paris." Going over to her chair, she didn't offer him a seat. Shooting her a glare, Grandpere indicated for him to take a seat, which he did, sitting smartly to attention.

"Pierre. What news do you bring?"

"It is your grandson, Monsieur. And his wife."

"He married? Who?"

"It must have been Éponine!" Marianne blurted out, laughing a little. "You even gave him your blessing over Christmas, Grandpere."

"Yes, Sebastien did marry Éponine Thénardier," confirmed Pierre, shooting a look at Marianne, raising an eyebrow, as if to tell her to be quiet.

"Humph," huffed Grandpere. "I still don't like it. When I see the boy again, he and I will have words." Looking a little uneasy, Pierre glanced towards Marianne again.

"He's dead. Sébastien Enjolras V died on June 6th, 1832. He was shot while leading a rebellion against the government. A traitor." Any other words were drowned out in the scream that followed. Marianne, after the initial shock has worn off, hearing her dearest brother called a traitor in the family home, felt her whole world crashing around her. She was vaguely aware of Grandpere ringing for servants to take her back to her room, where she paced around, screaming and crying. Admittedly, on that fateful day, she had felt something in her heart. Something broken, disappeared, never to return again. But she never imagined it could be Bastien's death. Hearing Pierre confirm it only caused her heart to bleed. Unable to focus on anything, she fell onto her bed, biting her pillow to try and control her screaming, but the tears refused to stop for hours.

That evening, Marianne made her way down to dinner, tired and grieving. Dressed in the deepest black for her brother and his wife, she idly poked at her food, ignoring Grandpere and Pierre's attempts to make conversation. In the back of her mind she wondered why Pierre was still there, not back in Paris, but it was all she could do to not start crying at the table. The centerpiece of chicken only caused her to start crying again, remembering their last time in Paris when she'd helped Éponine prepare a dinner very much like this one. Pushing her plate away, unable to take even the smallest bite, she ignored the look from Grandpere.

"Excuse me." She mumbled, pushing her chair away and fleeing the room, heading out to the garden, towards her little corner. The little corner she and Bastien had played in when they were children. Surrendering to her tears again, she didn't notice Pierre until he sat next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders protectively, trying to stop her trembling. Breathing in his scent, she couldn't help but feel disgusted at the sharp, metallic tang of blood that came from him. Trying to pull away from him, he only gripped her shoulders tighter, pinning her to him.

"Marianne, I'm sorry." he whispered quietly. "I know you loved your brother. But he died with honour. He didn't scream or beg for mercy. He met his end in a way I know you would be proud of." Placing his hand underneath her chin, he gently but possessively lifted her face up to his and turned it so she had no choice but to look up at him. Looking down on her tear-streaked face, he sighed, still admiring her beauty even through her grief. "You're more beautiful now than the first time I ever saw you, and even then you took my breath away." His eyes searching hers for a reaction, he was astounded when she forced her face away from his, looking back down at her hands, knotted in her lap.

Inside, her thoughts were reeling. How could he know how her brother had died if he hadn't been there himself? She knew of his status. Revulsion filled her very being as she realized he had given the order. He had been the one who had ordered her brother's death. Unable to stay in his company a moment longer, she tried to stand, only to have the weight of his arm restricting her movement. As she turned to implore him to let her go, he brought his lips down on hers, having taken the turn of her head as consent. She could almost taste the blood on his lips as she tried to fight him off. Never – NEVER – would she allow her brother's killer to kiss her. She never wanted to see him again. Using the strength she'd gained through her grief, she pushed him away, repulsed, and leaped to her feet, backing away from him.

"You killed him!" she yelled. "You murder my brother and then you come and try to claim me? Who are you, Pierre? A murderer! That's who and what you are. I tell you now, I will  _never_  love you, regardless of yours and Grandpere's little plan. I would rather die than even think about marrying you, as I know Grandpere wants us to. I am too good for you, and I'm sure if Grandpere knows you were responsible for Bastien's death, he would agree with me. Get out of this house. I never want to see you again." Whirling around on her heel, she made to run off back to the house, to the safety of her room, before Pierre grabbed her wrist, turning her to face him. "Let go of me," she spat, trying to break his grip.

"Not until you hear me out. Your grandfather knows that I did my duty. He knows I had no choice, and he doesn't mind. In his eyes, I was doing my duty. It could have been anyone. It's just unfortunate that your brother didn't take warning from Inspector Javert's visit to his apartment following on from their argument at Christmas. He could have given up and still be alive today, to see our wedding. But he didn't. He chose the way – and death – of a traitor."

"Let go of me," she repeated, more disgust and hatred in her eyes than she thought it was possible for one person to feel. "You can tell Grandpere that I would rather die to be with Bastien than spend a lifetime with you. You'll have his blood on your hands as long as you live. You'll have every one of his friends' blood on your hands too."

Pulling her wrist out of his grip, she stepped back again, glaring at him. "Never come near me again. You're as dead to me as my brother is. I never want to see you again." Turning, with great dignity, she fled back to the house, managing to avoid Grandpere before reaching her room, scrubbing her hands in the basin, trying to remove the blood she felt was on her hands and wrists from Pierre. After a few minutes of fruitless effort, she collapsed on her bed again, not bothering to undress, allowing the tears to overtake her until a fitful slumber took her.

* * *

**_June 20, 1832_ **

Madeleine looked up as a knock sounded at the door. "Get it, will you, Marie?" she asked coldly. Marie Perrault set aside her prayer book and walked over.

"Father Mansart! Welcome… Oh. Oh, my. How… she said…"

"Perhaps you might let me in, my dear."

"Of course." Marie returned to the sitting room with Father Mansart behind her. The priest was holding a bundle in his hands.

"Madeleine. You should be ashamed of yourself." He stepped forward to sit next to her and held out the bundle. Madeleine looked down to see a horrifyingly familiar set of features.  _Erik_.

"How did you get him?" she demanded. "I—"

"Left him to die. It seems someone in heaven is looking out for him. How could you? I told you it was a sin!"

" _He's_  a sin!" she interrupted. "Why should I have to bear him? I never asked for him!"

"Neither did the two people who found them, and yet they loved him as dearly as their own child."

"Then take him back to them!"

"I wish I could, Madeleine. But they're dead." Mansart shifted Erik in his arms and pulled three folded pieces of paper from his robes. "Two of these are from the young woman who placed him in my care. She asked me to give this one to you. And a boy came with a third letter from the girl's husband shortly before the barricades fell."

"The barricades," Madeleine repeated.

"It seems cruel that God would take away two people who care about Erik, but perhaps it was meant to show you that your son can be loved. That you must find it in your heart to love him. Something has protected your son, Madeleine, and returned him to your care."

"I don't want him."

"You must try." The priest held out Erik to her again. "I have to return to the church. Take him, Madeleine." She didn't move. Marie stepped forward and lifted Erik out of his arms as the boy began to cry.

"Shhh," she whispered. "Hush, Erik dear, it's all right. You're home now, dear." As Father Mansart departed, Madeleine bit her lip and looked back at the embroidery she'd been doing, stabbing at the muslin angrily. She'd thought she was finally free of her monstrous child, and now, some stranger had foisted him back upon her. She was aware of the three letters the priest had left sitting on the sofa.

"I'm going to burn them," she muttered.

"Don't you dare." Marie snatched the letters up. "Those letters came from people who care about him."

"They're dead, Marie. They didn't—"

"Open the one addressed to you at least."

"No."

"Madeleine, please—"

"Take them up to the attic, Marie. And the boy, too. I don't want to talk about this."

"But…" Madeleine gave her mousy-haired companion a look of ice. "Very well. But you can't avoid this forever, Madeleine. We will have to give him these letters—"

"No. He's never going to hear about this. I forbid it."


	19. Finale Ultimo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik grows up, and returns to remember something that he had long forgotten.

**_Finale: Saint-Martin-de-Boscherville, 1861_ **

"There's one other thing, Erik." I turn to look at Mademoiselle Perrault. She holds out three pieces of paper, yellowed with age. "I've been keeping these for nearly thirty years, just in case… You should have them. All of them."

"Thank you." I take them gingerly from her. Two of them bear my name, the third my mother's. The handwriting on the last one is shaky, similar to my own, the letter already broken open. I unfold it, reading the faded ink.

_Madame,_

_I hope you never ever have to read this letter. But if you are reading this, it means I'm gone and Erik is with you again._

_You were a fool to give him up, Madame. There's not a better child in the whole world. He's sweet, and clever, and wonderful. And I am a fool for leaving him, but there is something calling me away. I want to come back for him. I intend to come back for him, if only to make sure he never has to face any of the horrors this world will show him without someone who loves him by his side. I think he is more my son than he will ever be yours._

_God, I hope you never read this._

_Love your son as I did, Madame. He deserves love._

_Éponine Thénardier Enjolras_

"Éponine," I repeat her name. Something flashes inside me, memories of someone's arms holding me tightly, of soot and dust, of a sad pair of brown eyes. "Thirty years…"

"Your mother opened that letter just after you left. But she never read yours."

I sit on the sofa, and open the second letter that has Éponine's wavering penmanship on the front, a tarnished silver ring with a gleaming onyx stone falling into my palm as I do so. I raise it to my eyes for a moment, examining it before returning my attention the the letter.

_Dear Erik,_

_Oh, my sweet boy, I hope the only time you ever see this letter is when I get you back and burn it. But I have to be prepared for the chance that I won't be able to do that. So, in case you ever forget me, let me remind you now._

_My name is Éponine. I found you abandoned under a bridge. I and Enjolras. We took you in, and we loved you._

_You called me Neen, and then you called me Mama. When I married Enjolras, you called him Papa. He has a sister named Marianne, who lives in Rennes, and you called her Rianne._

_We lived at Number 147 on the Rue Liberté. You loved exploring every nook and cranny, and were covered in dirt half the time. You jumped on beds and drew on the walls, and you loved making music._

_You were the best part of my life, Erik. And I'm horribly selfish for doing this, but I'm chasing after love I know I can never have. That's always what we want most - what we can't have. If I die, I'm sorry, Erik. I really am sorry. But never doubt that I love you, and I want to come back to you._

_I'm so sorry, my sweet boy. I hope I'll see you again soon. We love you. I love you._

_Your Mama,_

_Éponine_

I say nothing, but open the final letter, this one penned in the strong, confident scrawl of someone with wealth and education.

_Forgive me, my son. I have failed you. At this moment, your mother lies dead before me, and it is possible I may follow her before this war is won. An irony, given I started this fight so that no one would have to suffer as you and she did. What I do from here on out, I do in the name of the Republic, in the name of Patria, and in the name of the family this world has denied us._

_My beloved comrades, my Friends of the ABC, often called me the reason of the revolution. Perhaps they were right, and yet, I think the true reason of the revolution is love. Love for my country, and love for my family. Rest assured, I will do everything in my power to return to you, but if I do not, it was because I was fighting for a better world for you. I never meant for your mother to die. I never meant to fail you._

_I still believe in France, Erik. I believe in liberty, equality and brotherhood. And if I die, I do so fighting so that you may live in a world where you can be free. That is my final gift to you._

_Your father,_

_Sébastien Richard Victor-Marie Enjolras V_

The letter slides out of my hands. Memories come rushing back to me. A man with shaggy blond hair carrying me around, and laughing. A woman tussling my hair, and tucking me in at night while kissing my forehead, a dark haired girl adjusting charcoal in my hand.

I'd had a family. A family who loved me. I snatch up the ring once again and slide it on my finger before standing and going to the door.

"Where are you going?" Marie asks.

"Rennes. And then Paris."

"Why? Erik! Wait!" But I am already out the door, and on my way.

I do not stop riding until I reach Rennes. The sun is setting as I locate the house marked as that of the Enjolras family. I hesitate a moment before knocking on the door.

"If you're selling something, I'm not interested!" a woman's voice barks.

"Rianne, please open the door. It's Erik," I say. The door opens violently, revealing a petite woman, her face slightly worn, but still fresh, her dark hair braided loosely down her back.

"I'm seeing a ghost," she whispers. "I must be seeing a ghost."

"I can assure you, I'm real. May I come in?"

"Of course! Come in, quickly!" She steps aside and shepherds me inside. The walls are covered with paintings, portraits, and scribbles on the walls. "I can't believe this…. You're alive. Bastien and Éponine's little boy, alive. Please, sit down, make yourself at home, this should've been your home, after all…" she laughs nervously. "I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"Perhaps a touch."

"Well, that's only to be expected, given how long it's been. Now, go on, sit down, I want to know everything, where have you been all this time?" She sits on one of the worn red sofas, and gestures for me to sit across from her. "Well?"

"It is… a very long story."

"I've got nothing but time." She picks up a worn leather bound book and opens it, pulling a stick of charcoal from inside. I hesitate for a moment, but then the whole story comes pouring out of me. Marianne proves herself a remarkably skilled listener, her fingers dancing over the paper, occasionally, biting her lip or shaking her head. but her eyes never leave me. When I finish, she sets aside the book, and I see the moments I described skillfully recreated. "I'm so very sorry," she whispers. "I should've looked harder for you when I went to Paris, I should've found you and made sure none of this ever happened. I failed my brother, and I failed you."

"You had no way of knowing. You were, what, seventeen, and you still went hunting for me? That took quite a bit of courage."

She shrugs. "I still ran off to England when I gave up."

"And apparently came back."

"Well, I finally figured out a way to give my grandfather a decent heart attack."

"Do tell," I lean forward. "I'm curious, and I have nothing but time. You went to England, and then what?"

"Fooled around for a while. Slept in slums, sold my artwork on the streets, had a string of lovers. I didn't come home until I'd had the babies."

"Babies?" I repeat. Marianne plucks up a framed sketch and passes it to me. It depicts a boy with thick black curls and and a Roman profile, and a girl with straight blonde hair.

"Little Bastien and Minerva."

"And the father?"

She shrugs. "Haven't seen them in, ooh, twenty eight years or so. I don't think they even knows I was expecting."

"You have illegitimate children by two different men."

"I'm sure you can imagine the scene my grandfather made when I came home with little Bastien in my arms and three months gone with Minerva. He looked as though he were about to explode, and he was dead a week later."

"You had two children just to give your grandfather grief."

"No, Erik, I had two children because I was lonely. Because I was hurting. Because I was tired of the world telling me what I had to do. Because I wanted to play the game on no one's rules but my own. Did my children suffer for it? Perhaps a little, at first, but I taught them not to give a damn what anyone thinks, just like their uncle did."

"Was he really so headstrong?"

"He started a rebellion, what do you think?" We both laugh a little at that, and she brushes away a tear. "I miss him so much…."

"If it's not too much trouble, Rianne…" It is difficult to think of her as anything other than Rianne. "May I see where they are buried?"

"Oh… oh, of course. The cemetery's not too far actually. Come on, we'll take the back way, so no one sees us." She grabs a dark cloak from a nearby closet, and leads me out of the house, pausing to take a lantern from the door. We walk through the streets as the sun shines its last rays.

"So, your children, where are they now?"

"Oh, well, Sébastien's off in America, fighting with the Northerners in the war."

"After losing your brother, you let him fight?"

"When I said I raised them to not give a damn what anyone thinks, that included myself," she explains. "He's not gotten himself killed yet, and the most I can do is hope he stays so. I write to him almost every day."

"And your daughter?"

"Oh, Minerva's with him," she says happily. "Tagged along and then eloped with the second son of a factory owner from Boston. They're expecting a baby."

Part of me begins to wonder if Marianne Enjolras is entirely sane. Is it possible for anyone to care so little what the world thinks of them? I watch her a little more closely, and realize that she walks as if there is something weighing her down… she has no choice but to not care what the world thinks of her. If she did, it would have destroyed her.

"This is it." She pulls a hairpin from her braid and starts picking the lock on a wrought iron gate. "Cemetery hours, bah. Must I mourn only when people decide it's convenient?" I decide I like this woman, regardless of her sanity. She pushes the gate open and leads me to a set of white marble tombstones that sit before a crypt bearing her family name.

"They were not given a place inside?" I ask.

"After Bastien walked out on Grandpere?" Marianne shakes her head. "No. My parents didn't get that honor either. Sometimes, I've wanted to torch the entire damn sepulcher and say good riddance to the old Enjolras family. But I've never done it. A little too superstitious, if you catch my meaning."

"I see…" I take a step closer to the graves, reading the inscriptions in the flickering light of Marianne's lantern. I see the name of Sébastien Richard Victor-Marie Enjolras V, who lived from 1806 to 1832. Beneath the standard letters are the words  _Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité_ , and  _For Patria_  carved in a far less experienced hand. "Your handiwork?" I look at her expectantly.

"He would have wanted it." Marianne says. I move to the other white stone. There is simply the name Éponine Enjolras, and the year 1832. "Her birth record was never found." Marianne explains.

"Were there any who survived the attacks?"

"Just Marius Pontmercy. He was a friend of one of the ABC's members, Courfeyrac…" she trails off. I don't remember Courfeyrac at all.

"Would he… would he know me?"

"No. Bastien and Éponine were very private about you. But his wife, Cosette, would."

"Cosette." The memory of Christmas cakes becomes prominent in my mind, and a blonde woman with green eyes. For a moment, I'm tempted to ask after this woman, but I decide against it. "Might I have a moment alone? To say farewell?"

"You're not staying here, are you?" she asks shrewdly.

"I had other plans even before coming here."

"I see." She sighs. "Well, you will always be welcome in my home, Erik. I'll give you your time then. You don't need to return the lantern." She steps away, leaving me alone with the graves. I touch Éponine's first, then that of Enjolras.

"I should hate you," I whisper. "I should hate both of you for abandoning me. But I remember… I remember the love you showed me. More than the rest of this world has ever shown me in my lifetime. I can't claim myself as your son. The things I have done have prevented me that honor, I think. But if there were once people like you in this world who could love me, surely there must still be others. I will not forget you. I will find that world you wanted, if only for myself. Thank you. Thank you for a brief flicker of light in an ocean of darkness. Farewell." I wrap my cloak around my body, and turn from the graves, leaving the lost piece of my past to the night, and setting my eyes toward a future I intend to make.

* * *

**_1881_ **

**_I'm dying…. I can feel myself dying. The utter futility of it all. The regret. Every moment of my life… I should have taken Marianne's offer when she gave me the chance. Damn my insufferable arrogance and pride. I was young then. Young and cocky._ **

**_Christine has been a good girl. She did as I asked, and now, she's gone off with her vicomte. The boy will make her happy. If he doesn't, I shall have no choice but to come back as a true ghost, and haunt him._ **

**_I am finally learning about what it is to die. There is no bright light at the end of a tunnel, but there are visions. Two faces that have only drifted at the edge of my mind for years. A lanky man with shaggy blond hair, serious features, and sharp blue eyes, standing beside a dangerously thin brunette girl who has a round face and sorrowful chocolate eyes._ **

**_"My sweet boy," she whispers, holding out a hand. "Oh, Erik, you're home."_ **

**_"Mother…" the name slips easily out of me, and I fall into her embrace. I'm too tall for her, yet she holds me as though I were still an infant. She feels warm and soft, and smells of rainwater. "Mama…"_ **

**_"Can you forgive us?" Enjolras asks, placing a hand on my shoulder._ **

**_"I forgave you long ago. I think the question is whether or not you can forgive me." I say to him, stepping away to allow him into the embrace._ **

**_"If I can forgive this pigheaded idiot, and he me," Éponine hits him on the shoulder, "I think we can both forgive you. If we'd been better parents, you never would have had to face such suffering on your own. You did only what you thought you had to. But that's behind you now. All your grief is. We're here. We're with you. You're home, Erik. You're finally home." Even as she says it, I know she's right, and I slip away from this life into the arms of my true parents, the ones who loved me purely. Three lost people coming together for the first time in nearly fifty years. And it is more glorious than any music I have ever heard._ **


End file.
